


The Job Between Here and There

by Pohadka



Series: The Job Between Here and There [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Leverage, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dementia, James "Bucky" Barnes and a cat, Memory Loss, Multi, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, OT3, Other, Parker's bunny, Pre-Slash, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Slow Build, Sophie is a mother hen, adding tags as I go, listing shield chars but they're more like guest spots, or is it mid slash?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 40,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6354295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pohadka/pseuds/Pohadka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He might be free from HYDRA’s command and making his own life now, but James Buchanan Barnes is far more lost than he’d ever been before.  Nothing matches the vague memories he’s recovered so far, and the world has progressed far beyond needing soldiers.  To find out what he wants, and how to get it, he just needs a little… Leverage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bank Job

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the vague time between the end of Winter Soldier and the beginning of Civil War. Will probably not be CW compliant. 100% MCU, no comic except for the occasional reference and/or influence. Agents of SHIELD will be referenced, as well as Peggy Carter. Possible spoilers there. For the Leverage crew, I’m setting this approximately 4 years past the finale of the show, so there will be spoilers. I also ship the OT3 as a given.
> 
> Part 1 of 3.
> 
> Updates every ~~Friday,~~ Thursday and Sunday, two of my chapters, since I’m a short scene writer. Beta’d by the ever awesome Florianna, who this whole series is dedicated to. This fic was inspired by that damn red Henley shirt. I laughed at Barnes stealing it from Eliot. Another friend suggested they shared clothes. Flori let me run with it. 
> 
> Content warning: Bucky Barnes fascinates the hell out of me because of the memory loss and effect. So I’m tagging for dementia and Alzheimer’s issues. If you or someone you know are dealing with memory problems, then this fic may be triggery. My grandmother turned out to be a violent Alzheimer’s patient. I probably am channeling her a bit.
> 
> EDIT: Now can be found as a podfic!! [The Job Between Here And There Podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7643827/chapters/17402257)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Collage made by the amazing [EstherCloyse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherCloyse/pseuds/EstherCloyse) and posted at http://www.polyvore.com/job_between/set?id=198873427 THANK YOU!

Parker had a real appreciation for old banks late at night.  This one had been built in the Depression, one of the few that hadn’t gone under or re-purposed.  It still had the gilded marble teller desks and the high arches in both the main lobby and the downstairs vault.  And lovely wide air shafts. They were almost as spacious as the air ducts at the brew pub. Right now, she was suspended from one of those ducts, avoiding the laser grid across most of the floor.  

The acoustics were just as amazing.  Parker could hear every tick of the clock along with the click of the tumbler in the vault door.  She could also hear Eliot’s footsteps as he patrolled as one of the on duty security crew, in both the ear piece she wore and the way they echoed down the hallway.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Eliot muttered.  “Please tell me you’re almost done.”  The words were growled and stubborn, but Parker had learned not to pay attention to them.   This particular con required knowing all the mark’s financial details, a lot of which he smartly kept non digital and in a lock box in his own vault.

“Oh no, I’m still getting to know this lovely Yale.  They’ve made quite a few interesting changes over the years. I think it’s probably unique.” Parker shifted her hold on the rope she had wrapped around her left leg.  The tumblers had been upgraded at some point in the last twenty years. She couldn’t hear a single worn edge. “So much love put into you.”

“What?” That was Hardison, monitoring the security cameras.  Or supposed to be.  Probably playing World of Warcraft with his imaginary friends again.

“I wasn't talking to you. Shhh!” Seriously. Boys always butting in like she was talking to them.  She made a mental note to screw with him later, some how.

Both men muttered to themselves and each other.  Parker felt comfortable ignoring them. It’d become a background noise of safety for her.  If they both felt safe enough to just mutter, that meant their security was still tight.  She listened for tone and certain words, secure in Eliot’s ability to keep her safe.  Speaking of….

The Yale’s last tumbler clicked into place and she couldn’t help but smile in pride as she swung it open.  Really, whoever maintained this safe knew their business. Absolutely top notch!

Parker spent a few more minutes looking into the safe, holding the door still so it wouldn’t trip any of the lasers outside.  Inside, there were plenty more fun treats to ponder.  A fog machine sat in the corner, just like the Boston diamond vault job.  Whether it was tied to the floor tiles or the invisible lasers or even the humidity, that’s why she wanted to get her own eyes on the vault instead of Hardison botching it up somehow.

Silence. “Eliot? What’s going on out there?” Parker frowned, then pulled herself upright on her rope.  Below, the vault door swung shut and reset itself, erasing any suspicion that someone had been there.  That had been one of her requests.  This bank manager had been smart enough to keep running mortgage scams all through the federal investigations into the bank and keep them hidden. Hardison couldn’t find anything digital, so it had to be in his personal box. Under security they’d only faced a few times in their career together.  So her rule was: Get in, get out, leave no trace.

“Parker, get out of there. We’re not the only ones..”  

“We’re not the only ones who, Eliot? Eliot!”  That was Hardison, and now Parker could hear him scrambling to actually watch the monitors instead of his game.

More silence, then gunfire.

Loud chatters, very distinctive, the way that Eliot had taught her to identify machine guns. Specifically, a Czech made Skorpion that could be hidden easily under a coat. “I’m out of the vault!” she said, even as she pulled herself up into the air vent. “Where is he, Hardison?”

“Two hallways up from you, almost to the stairs,” came her answer. “I can’t see who it is, but it’s only one guy.”

In the air ducts, the gun fire was harder to trace.  It didn’t matter to Parker, she had memorized the layout of the air ducts when they decided on this job. She moved as silently as she could, aware that any shift echoed loudly down the metal.  The gunfire stopped. Parker stopped, listening, but there was only silence.

Until she could hear the heavy thuds and grunts that were the trademark of Eliot working.

Then even the thuds went silent.  “Eliot?” No answer

Parker moved even faster to the duct closest to the stairs.  Below her, Eliot lay on the floor alone. She couldn’t even hear the footsteps of his assailant, nor see anything in the well lit hall.

“Okay, Eliot’s right. This place is creepy!”


	2. I Know Him

Hardison and Parker took turns filling ice packs and finding places to put them on. Eliot, merely glared at them, his jaw set until Alec finally sighed. “Okay, I have footage, yes. Are you SURE you want to watch this?”

“I need to know I was right. I know who that was, but you’ll never believe me.” The words were hard to spit out through his split and battered lip, but thoughts in his head worried him more. 

“Okay. I mean, your ego is strong for this, so it’s cool.” Hardison still took two steps back before he started the video. 

On the screen, the guy in the black jacket swept down the stairs, studying the layout and checking it clear in full military style. More than any branch of military, the way he moved spoke of a lifetime of experience. Only guys in Shield moved like that.

Or Hydra.

Or.. No, it wasn’t him.

Couldn’t be. Eliot was mistaken. Had to be.

Black gloves, black jacket, black mask, long dark hair. It could’ve been anyone. 

Eliot stepped into view now, throwing his body purposefully to knock the small machine gun out of play. The mercenary moved with him, countering the move only to be stuck by Eliot’s refusal to be flipped. Several hard blows in each direction but it was obvious that for the first time in his life, he was out matched. 

It didn’t sting his ego, like Hardison feared. Nor did it cause any doubt in his heart. With his remaining good hand, he dug into his pocket to pull out a black glove, just as his digital self ripped it off the other fighter’s hand.

Silver metal shined in the light, right as it came down hard onto Eliot’s temple, turning him into jello. 

“That’s impossible,” Hardison was muttering.

“No, it was him,” Eliot replied. The man swept the hall, even checked the air duct before moving out of camera sight. Twenty seconds later, Parker was sliding out of the air duct to revive him. 

Hardison turned, shaking his head as he fought to process. To believe. “They said he went down with the carrier in DC. They SAID he was dead!”

“Who is dead, who is that?” Parker demanded, jerking her boyfriend around to face her.

“The Winter Soldier,” Eliot replied for him. He stared at the screen, a small smile slipping onto his lips. “I lasted how long against him? Replay that! I need to time it!”

“Now Eliot, I know what you're thinking. But no, that was NOT awesome. That was anything but awesome. That was the fucking Winter Soldier!” 

“Yes, that was awesome. Only guy I know of that can do better, is Captain America.” Eliot let himself have two seconds of pride despite the outburst it triggered.

Parker was ignoring him, so Eliot did too. Hardison needed a few minutes to freak out about things that scared him. Then they’d be able to get him back to work. In the meantime, she was replaying the video, swaying as she followed the fight. Eliot had taught her his style, and a few others he’d introduced the crew to. None of them had ever moved like that. Seeing her study this made the pain a fraction less annoying.

“Look at him Hardison, it’s definitely him.” Eliot held his breath as Parker looped the video, mentally timing the fight. Thirty seconds. Not bad really. “I saw him before, in San Lorenzo.” 

Now both were looking at him. For a moment, the dead silence in the brew pub was reassuring. Just the hum of the air system and the click of Hardison’s computers. No one downstairs would be in for at least another two hours. “There was a reason I knew where Moreau was at all times. A man that dirty, you know he worked with Hydra.”

“I know. I’ve been unraveling that ball of nasty ever since we took him down,” Hardison replied. “You don’t always tell us everything.”

“Well he is now,” Parker said, poking the bruise on his arm.

“Stop it, Parker!” Eliot shifted, catching her hand, then sighs. “Yeah, I am. About him.” He took a deep breath, letting that memory open for the first time in ages. “It was about a year before I left. Moreau made a huge deal, gave up a lot of assets to have a single person taken out. That assassination gave him the control of San Lorenzo, and he,” Eliot pointed at the TV for a second, “was the one who pulled it off.” He paused, resetting himself by moving a bag of ice onto the spot where Parker had poked. “I was part of his support crew and got to watch him at length. He was as close to a machine as they could make a person.” Pushing back the pain of those memories got easier as years passed, if only by inches. 

“So what do we do now?” Parker asked, pausing the screen on the best frame of the man. 

“We finish the job. Whatever he was after, I guarantee it’s not part of our objective,” Eliot said. The painkillers were kicking in, and actually, the Soldier might have been pulling his punches a little. None of the other security guards were killed, merely disabled.

“It wasn’t,” Hardison agreed. He let Parker keep the main screen, spinning his tablet around. “News is already up. He plowed through all that security, broke in a single large box, cleaned it out, and left before we did.” News video was playing on one side, while articles scrolled past on the other.

“Who owned the box?” Eliot asked, taking the tablet.

“That’s the other thing. According to bank records, that box doesn’t exist. He just did half OUR job for us. They’re already looking into Haveston’s record keeping because of that. I can fill in the rest and they’ll be uncovering the mortgage scam by this afternoon.” 

Eliot watched Hardison for a moment as he started to do that, muttering to himself as he moved over to his computer to work. Their job was practically done without even having to execute most of their con.

Parker finally turned and sat down carefully next to him, leaning in to read the news reel on the tablet. “I feel sad. That was a beautiful vault. It deserved better.” Eliot grunted as she pouted, hiding his amusement. Parker always did love good workmanship. “I know him.”

He put down the tablet and looked up, frowning. “Know who?” 

She pointed back up at the screen, still frozen on the metal hand and a glimpse of an eyebrow under the hair. “He lives in one of my buildings.”


	3. 32557038

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so definite updates on Fridays, random updates when I feel I can't sit on chapters any longer?

There were things from the bank box he understood. There were a couple things he knew instantly should be destroyed, and he did. A lot of things about people dead and gone. A lot of things about himself. About the other him. All of the other hims.

He looked at his hands, flexing the fingers on each. Flesh and blood made about as much noise as the well oiled machine. “James Buchanan Barnes.” The name felt so foreign still. “Bucky” sounded even worse.

“Who am I?” he asked, looking up.

Somewhere in the abandoned building, pigeons were roosting. Their soft noises and flutters were reassuring. For three weeks, he’d made this space his own. They were neighbors he’d never had before.

“Bucky Barnes is dead.” His voice. It sounded pretty definite. Someone had even given Bucky Barnes a death date, way back in 1944.

1944\. Steve. Hydra. Storming the bases. The train. Memories flashed through his mind, too fast to catch and write down still.

45 blurred into 46 into 49 into 54. The sameness of those days proved the reality to him. Four walls. Bad food. Worse guards. The cryo chamber fails. Successes.

He looked sideways at the metal arm. Flexes it. Feels it react just like flesh. “Real.” 

The man some called Bucky stood up, pushing off the small auditorium stage he’d been leaning against. The whole building was rotting and falling down. It had been the headquarters of some oil company, untouched it seemed for decades. The shattered bits of the stage though, that was new.

Controlling the rage on his own without his handlers was a new experience. One he actually relished. 

Even as it twisted and threatened to split him into two. 

In front of the stage, half an auditorium’s worth of seats still existed. He’d propped up photos, one for each chair. One side, Steve Rogers. Opposite side, a dead man named James Buchanan Barnes.

“32557038.” He paused, thinking of that. “No, I’m not a number. I’m not a thing.”

He stood straighter. The Asset, it was a thing. The Asset, that’s what was dead. It felt good, knowing that.

He was a person. He had choices. Even if the choice was to give in. Complete his mission.

“James. James is good.” 

Only the front row of seats had faces. And one seat in the back. Further away, less likely to throw him into a rage when he glimpsed Zola’s face again. 

Nice target for practice though.

James sat down in front of the stage on the mattress he’d brought in, looking over the five piles of items taken from the bank vault. Money, although it looked old. Files peeling a little as he leafed through them. Ancient weapons long past usefulness. Photos. Useless registers. Unless he could decipher what the scrawling lines meant.

“Till the end of the line.” James put the files down and reached for a different pile, one precise stack of journals. The one he picked up was labeled Steve. That sentence was repeated over and over through the worn pages. He wrote it down again. The meaning of it still escaped him. The one clear memory he had was on the carrier, from the broken and bloody lips of his mission. 

“Steve, his name is Steve.” He knew that from the history books he’d stolen along the way. From the Smithsonian exhibit. The one that said he was dead.

He also knew it from the way his mouth felt when he said it. Comfortable. Reassuring. Ancient. It folded into one of the oldest memories he had recovered so far, of a scrawny blond kid with a bloody nose, coughing too hard to speak. The urge to protect that kid grew stronger, then faded as the memory slipped. 

His head fell silent. He waited, but nothing else came. 

The vault. The bank. Something about the last person he fought. Something fuzzy, then it slipped away. Not enough information yet. 

The silence was growing. In his own head. In the building. The pigeons had fallen silent.

The Glock felt good in his hand. The Skorpion waited on his hip while he shoved his notebooks and things he deemed irreplaceable into his backpack. Someone was in the building. This was no longer a secure location.

Time to go.


	4. Six Slices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one good way to lure a New York boy out of hiding.

Eliot sat outside the building, hidden from the road but still in plain view from all four floors. If Parker was right, and her squatter was the Winter Soldier, he wanted to know first, but he also didn’t want to force the issue. It took too long to heal up these days. 

He’d also left his ear bud at home, without telling either of his partners where he was going. Parker said she’d give him one whole day before she went back to spy. 

“He’s not bothering anything of mine, and I let people live in my places. Keeps other people from getting too nosy about empty buildings.” He loved Parker, but sometimes her lack of understanding and yet utter amazing outlook on life drove him insane.

So here he was. Sitting on the hood of his orange Charger, a pizza bag on the hood beside him. He waited. 

Going in would be a death sentence. Besides, if Parker was cool with him staying and he didn’t murder all three of them in their ridiculously large bed, he was fine with it. Hardison had spent the night working hard, going back through the Hydra files he’d copied throughout his career and scouring the web for news. As far as Hardison was concerned, they were the first verified witnesses to the Soldier’s continued existence. 

But they did have an MO now. Once Hardison tweaked his search, several stories had jumped out. Single assailant, every guard knocked out, but not killed. Obvious Hydra caches once the furor over the attack had died down.

Sitting here like this, Eliot knew there were three, no four outcomes. One, he got shot from one of the upper windows. Two, the Soldier went out the back without Eliot ever seeing him. Three, the Soldier came down, beat the crap out of him, took the Charger and left him for dead.  
Fourth, he actually came out in curiosity. 

Eliot was betting on the fourth one. 

A man like the Winter Soldier, with an organization behind him like Hydra, wouldn’t be living in an abandoned building, hitting targets by himself. Granted, the organization had gone to shit what with the number Captain America had pulled on them. But there were still enough of those bastards to go around to clean up loose ends.

Which, for Eliot, said that maybe, the Winter Soldier was interested in changing career paths. Wouldn’t be the first Hydra agent to do so. Eliot himself included.

He came ready for an all day wait. So far he hadn’t been shot, so outcome one could be scratched off. Maybe. 

But really, did it have to take all day? 

#

Two hours later, he finally saw movement. Eliot stayed right where he was, leaning against the car now because his butt was going numb. From the side of the building, he could see a bulky body in the shadows. Hunched over the machine gun that was aimed on Eliot.

They sat there for five minutes, staring at each other. Not moving. It was almost like watching paint dry. If paint could shoot back. 

Slowly, the Soldier moved to the corner of the building. Eliot could make out the barrel of the gun. Sunlight hit it but it didn’t reflect. It’d been blacked over. And steady, despite being aimed for who knows how long. 

“I’m not here to cause any problems. I’m representing the owner of the building. She’d like you to know that as long as you don’t implode the building, there will be no questions.”

Another five minutes passed. “And the bag.” 

“Peace offering. I uh, also have your glove, from the bank. I’d like to return it.” This was one of the times Eliot really missed Sophie. She would’ve charmed the guy into a date on the town by now. 

“Open the bag, slowly.” The voice was flat, no accent that Eliot could tell. 

“Okay. I’m going to walk to the other side, so you can see clearly.” He felt like an idiot, but he continued to state what he was doing before he did it. Better safe than sorry.

“New York style pizza. Thin crust, heavy cheese, pepperoni. A little cold now. Made it myself, actually. Have a couple bottles of Heineken here, if you drink those.” 

“Pizza.” Now there was a lift to the word. Just a touch. 

“Yeah. Heard you’re from New York. And I haven’t met a kid from New York yet that didn’t love his slices.” 

“I remember pizza.” The barrel didn’t move, but something was going on there that Eliot wasn’t quite tracking. “Eat a slice.” 

Eliot nodded. “Six slices. Pick a number.” 

“Number.” A pause. “Three.” 

Eliot pointed to the pie, counting to three, then picks up the slice. Folded it over and took a bite. Needed better oregano, their supplier was giving them crap again. He ate it slowly, watching the muzzle of the gun come closer. Now only the Charger stood between him. It was as close as he’d been to him in San Lorenzo, but this time, he had the Soldier’s full attention on him.

The man was ragged. Eliot didn’t have any other word. There was a full two weeks of stubble on his cheeks, and his eyes were bloodshot straight through. The clothes were clean, but the looked worn, nothing like the black leather armor he’d worn before. The only really odd thing was the backpack snapped securely to his chest. 

Eliot put both hands on the hood of the Charger, fingers spread. “Pizza’s all yours. Your glove’s there next to it. Like I said, you’re free to stay, no surveillance. No one coming by to bother you either. We just ask that no one gets hurt.” 

“You were at the bank. Why?” The eyes didn’t shift. Neither did the gun.

“We help people. In not so legal ways. We were at the bank because of a mortgage scam. A lot of people lost their homes.”

“You were breaking in.” 

“Uh-huh. Only you beat us to it. I work with the best thief in the world. And the best hacker.” Too much information, the Soldier’s brows were creasing close. He shifted to look inside the car, then back at Eliot.

“You came alone?”

“I figured it’d be best. Like I said, just a peace offering.” This close, he could see that the Soldier’s eyes were ice blue. And cold. A shiver tried to go down his back.

“You won’t come back?”

“Not for a while. Maybe, in a month, check on the building. Parker, she’s,” Eliot pauses, then admitted, “She’s like you. No one sees her, if she doesn’t want them to.”

The Soldier started to take a step back, then stopped. The man was entirely unreadable, beyond Eliot’s understanding of his stance and wariness.

So he did the smartest thing he could think of. He waited. 

The barrel shifted, down, before slipping under the coat.

“I want to hire you.”


	5. Cheese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus, cause it's tiny.

James had no idea what a hacker was. Hopefully not one of those techs who had always messed with his arm. Or his head. 

It took a moment for him to release the death grip he had on his Glock.

After this Eliot had left, he’d taken the pizza back up to the auditorium. The smell was triggering something in his head, something old and deeply buried. His metabolism made use of anything he ate, but he hoped the taste would cause the tickle to loosen up into a full memory.

Food was… a revelation. So much, too much. More than his pre-war self remembered. Sometimes the choices were overwhelming. He didn’t eat anything he couldn’t recognize. Even the English descriptions were different.

But pizza hadn’t been one of the things he recognized anymore. Not until now. 

He opened the box slowly. Five slices, cold but still aromatic. The amount of cheese was almost startling. With his right hand, he pinched off a slice of pepperoni and a chunk of cheese, looking at it before he carefully put it into his mouth.

Taste exploded into his mouth. Rich creamy cheese, spicy pepperoni. Pizza sauce so thick with oregano, almost overwhelming. It made him moan, another new experience. So this is what pleasure is supposed to be, he thought, simply savoring the taste.

Then he gasped as memories flooded in. The skinny blond kid named Steve sitting next to him, laughing as they both ate, elbows bumping pleasantly. A woman with gray hair, flour dusted everywhere, muttering as she rolled and punched a loaf of dough. The aroma of melted cheese and bubbling tomato sauce. 

A girl with brown eyes, smiling shyly up at him, a plate with a slice of pizza in her lap as they sat on a grassy lawn. An open air shop on a New York street, selling pizza by the slice, the face of a man behind the counter lighting up as he moved closer. 

New York opened up wide for him. The city welcomed him home again, and didn’t let go.

The sun was setting when the memories let him loose. His parents, his sisters, Steve, so many things surrounding pizza and food. He scrambled for a fresh notepad and pencil, scrawling furiously, taking bites now and then to see if any fresh memories shook free. He paused once to turn on a flash light, but kept writing until he could think of nothing else. All five of the pizza slices were gone. Just the cheese stuck to the cardboard. He picked at it hopefully. And wanted more.

Eliot didn’t say where to find him, but the box had a the name and address printed on it. And he had a map of Portland.


	6. You Did WHAT?

“Yo-you did what?” Hardison’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest at the risk that Eliot had just taken.

“Calm down. He told me that he needs help finding a few things, then I bet he’ll be gone in a day or so.” Eliot was way too calm for this. Hardison wanted to choke him. 

“You know better than either of us what he’s capable of! And you’re okay with him coming here?” In the back of his head, he started to think about all the different escape routes that he and Parker had come up with so far. 

“I didn’t tell him where we were, just gave him a phone number to contact. One you always record anyways.” Parker was listening, looking back and forth between the two men.

“Eliot, our pizza boxes have our address on them!” Hardison immediately switched on all the outside feeds, searching the screens for a homicidal soldier stalking them. 

“I was in and out of that building four times since he moved in. He’s… He’s strange,” she said.

Parker calling anyone strange was a trip into insanity, but Hardison went with it. “Strange, how?”

“He took over the auditorium, spread out a lot of photos and paperwork. Kinda like we do on the work board, but in paper.” She had her pen and paper out, drawing out the faces she remembered. “A lot of the faces he had set up, I don’t know.” 

Hardison looked over her shoulder, one hand light on her back, letting his curiosity come forward to help block his nerves. There had been only a few times he’d come close to really dying since he met these two, but it’d been far too close for his liking. “Okay, I think I know a couple of those. It’s like he’s… recreating something.” 

Eliot moved in to look too. “I never saw any of them in San Lorenzo. But everyone knows who Cap is. Would this be his hit list?” 

Hardison shook his head, pointing to one in the middle. “No, cause some of these guys are dead already. That’s Alexander Pierce, from DC. And why would he put himself on there?” 

“Guys, can I finish drawing this first?” Parker elbowed both of them out of the way. 

Hardison stepped back, trying to think over the situation. “You said, in San Lorenzo, he was like a machine, right?”

“Yeah, very precise, very focused on his mission. As far as I could tell, he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat.” 

“Hydra has all sorts of ways to compel that kind of behavior.” This was the scary stuff. He didn’t like messing with Hydra any more than Eliot did. Mostly because he was good at hiding. His virii, his bugs and electronic tapping were well hidden. Never traced back. Because he couldn’t fight like Eliot, couldn’t take the abuse like Eliot could. In the years since they met, he learned to trace every scar on his body. Alec still didn’t know all the stories behind them. “I could start mining all that data they dumped on the net again, see what I come up with.” 

“Yeah. And it could be that he’s trying to undo all that,” Eliot replied. He started to say something else, but bit it back when the phone from the pub rang. “This is Eliot.” A few words, then he was turning to switch the screen over to the downstairs feed.

The Winter Soldier stood in the doorway, looking very out of place as he waited for an answer.


	7. I Wanted More

The brewpub was overwhelming. So much sound, so many smells and people. Just so much life. James stood at the doorway, his breath coming quicker and his chest trying to squeeze. His instinct was to turn and run. He would have, if the dark haired hostess hadn’t smiled up at him with so much warmth. Her name tag said Amy. “Would you like a booth or a table?”

A question with a choice. He liked those. What if he didn’t choose? The mission. He was here to see Eliot. “Is Eliot here?” 

Four exits, one at his back, two behind the bar, the large bay windows. Easiest to duck out the door again if she pulled an alarm of any sort.

But she didn’t. She simply nodded and picked up a phone. “Eliot, great, glad you’re there. I have one of your clients down here.” 

Bucky could hear silence on the other end of the line. _Till the end of the line._ Do not reach for the gun. Too public. Authorities would be called. Then someone spoke on the other end. 

“Okay, no problem, I have just the place.” Amy hung up the phone and smiled at him. “Eliot asked me to give you one of our quiet tables, he’ll be right down.” 

James nodded, following her through the crowd. People moved in no pattern he could understand, bumping into him now and then until they reached an alcove along the back wall. Closer to the exits behind the bar, too many people between himself and the windows, or the front doors. But the wall at his back was solid. When he sat down, the sound level dropped considerably. 

“Would you like something to drink?” The girl asked. 

He frowned. What was normal for someone to ask for? “Water?” That had to be a good answer, because she simply nodded and headed to the bar. 

The booth was circular, so he shifted to the corner. Line of sight was better. Anyone coming up to the table, he’d see. He slipped the Glock out of his coat to hold between his legs. 

The girl brought the glass to him, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was thirsty. He shifted the Glock to his metal hand, reaching for the water with his right. Tested the water first, then took a long drink. Then a second. And a third. Most of the water was gone before Eliot stepped up beside the table.

“Is it okay if I sit down?” Eliot’s voice was low, and he held both hands out in plain view.

James thought, then nodded. The Glock was still between his thighs, but the safety was on. Eliot slid into the booth across from him, both hands on the table. James took a deep breath, trying to think how to phrase the words again. “The pizza. It was... I wanted more.”

Eliot looked pleased, nodding and turning to wave Amy over, giving her a very specific order. “And make sure they use the fresh oregano this time.” He looked at the glass, then added,” then bring us a pitcher of the experimental brew and more waters.” 

James waited until the girl left, clutching his Glock tighter, thumb on the safety. “Experimental brew?”

“My partner, he’s trying to recreate a world war two brew. Thought maybe it might taste better for you.” 

The war. The Commandos. Faces flashed through his mind, names applying to each image easier now. From somewhere in the holes of his memory, he could hear Morita belching. “Yes, please.” He itched to drag out a notebook, but to do that, he would have to put the gun away.

Eliot’s voice was low, calm. Military in a way, but nothing like his handlers had been. Or Zola. “There’s no one here that’s going to hurt you. This is a safe place. We’re trusting you. You’re in my house now.” His face was open, calm. Hands still on the table. But there was tension in his shoulders, experience in how he held himself. Control of himself. No expectation to control James, unless he had to.

James nodded, sliding his gun back and put it in his holster. “I’m not used to people.” Something tugged at his tongue, adding “yet.”

“We’re closing soon. This is the last crowd. You’re welcome to stay after, eat your pizza in quiet.” 

“And talk? You, your partners. The, the information I asked for.” 

Eliot nodded slowly. “Probably best to talk that over in private. In the meantime,” He leaned back as Amy brought a tray with a pitcher, two empty mugs, and two more glasses of water. James hands itched. 

He poured both mugs, then pushed them both towards James to pick. He picked up the mug on the right. It felt good in his hand, even as he tested the weight of it. 

He looked around. No one was looking at them, not even the waitress. He braced himself, then took his first sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amy was the waitress who got roped in by Parker in the season 5, episode 8 - The Broken Wing Job.


	8. You Want a Corndog, I Can Tell

Amy waved goodbye, the last of the waitstaff to leave. Eliot thought maybe, it was time to give her another raise. She practically ran the place these days.

Across from where he sat, the Soldier had two notebooks on the table, flipping back and forth between them as he ate and drank. Eliot sipped at his own beer, mostly to keep his visitor company. They hardly spoke at all, unless the Soldier had a request to make. Eliot had one of his own, but it could wait. He hoped the thing with the notebook meant that, if not friends, that he was at least comfortable enough in Eliot’s company to relax. 

The lock clicked into place behind Amy. The Soldier raised his head, looking around for a moment. Eliot knew he was fast, but he still didn’t see the Glock until it was pointed straight at Parker, hanging from her climbing rope in the middle of the restaurant. “Parker, don’t move. Hardison, do not come down.”

She and the Soldier just looked at each other. 

“This is one of my partners that I told you about. She’s the owner of the building you’ve been living in.” His mind raced, doing a dozen scenarios and calculations on whether he could stop the bullet from hitting Parker. One third of his heart, too painful to lose. 

The memory of Parker holding a gun on him all those years ago, the day Dubenich tried to kill them, flashed through his mind. Wounded birds had similarities sometimes. Wounded? Maybe.

“I promised you, no one hurts you in my house. She can help you.” 

“Help him? Help him! No, you just let him come in and shoot up OUR home. OUR HOME, Eliot!” Hardison, reacting in his way. “We don’t even know his name!” 

The Soldier looked over at Eliot. The gun stayed steady on Parker. A look of indecision, then the gun slowly went back into his holster under his arm. “James. I picked James.” 

Hardison fell silent in his ear. Eliot nodded. “This is Parker. The guy you heard,” Eliot paused to pull out his ear bud to show James before putting it back in, “Is Alec Hardison. I’d like Hardison to bring his computer down, to show you a few things.” 

James stared, then tapped at his own ear. “SHIELD?”

“No,” Eliot said, hoping to curb Hardison’s reaction. Didn’t work, so he just raised his voice a little. “Our private comm system. Alec designed them. Closed loop, just us three.” At this point, mentioning Nate and Sophie would just complicate things.

The Soldier, no… James stared at him for a moment, then folded up the notebooks to stow back into his backpack. “Okay.” 

“Do you want to stay here? Or would you like to move into the kitchen, away from the windows? Back door leads onto an alley. That goes to the street on the other corner.” When Eliot mentioned the windows, James’ eyes flicked past Parker to look out onto the open windows.

“Still hungry. Don’t want pizza though.” He looked it. Despite polishing off the whole pizza, there was a hunger in his eyes that made Eliot a little uncomfortable.

“Sure, I can whip up anything you want back there. Parker, unhook from the harness and go first, slowly.”

For once, she did as he asked without question. 

“Was she in the rafters the whole time?” James asked. The curiosity, and the full sentence caught Eliot’s attention. 

“More like, when is she not in the rafters?” He smiled, then slowly stood up to clear the table of the empty glasses and pizza pan. “I’ll go first. You can follow when you’re comfortable.” James nodded again, pulling his backpack on when he stood up. 

Eliot assumed he’d take his time to scout out the place, but he was only two steps behind him. The kitchen gleamed in a way that still made Eliot proud. He’d put together a good kitchen crew. Wasn’t their fault he had to chase them out today. “Do you know what you’d like next? More New York food?”

Parker waited, already sitting at the crew table in the back. James took the seat across from her, eyes glistening as he looked at Eliot. “Cheeseburger. Hot dogs at Ebbets. I remember those.” 

“I’ll do both. Maybe corndogs too? You ever go to Coney Island? I’ll do some of that, okay?” Ebbets field? That was… oh. The remembering part clicked. That’s what the notebooks were for, to write it all down and keep track. He set to work, asking questions the whole time. Not all of them were answered, but the answers he did get were encouraging. Parker chimed in as well.

He had four of everything ready when Hardison came down. He came smartly, knocking at the door first before easing in. Eliot saw the twitch for the gun, but it didn’t come out. So some progress made. “All right, everyone, sit down. Pick what you want.” He sat down between James and Parker, smiling at Hardison when the hacker sat down across from him. 

James, to his surprise, took one of everything. They let him eat in silence, ignoring when the notebook came out again. Like before, Eliot let him be, pulling his two into a conversation about the pub, kicking Parker a couple times until she caught on. 

He had to kick her again when he saw the tears shine in James’ eyes. The food was being pushed away, the notebook clutched so hard that the cardboard back crumbled. 

Eliot was fast. Parker was faster. But neither of them would ever be able to clock the speed James had when he lurched from the seat and into the back door. It gave instantly, groaning as it was torn from the hinges. 

Outside, it was raining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Carney Man, by Cross Canadian Ragweed. Good red dirt Oklahoman band, if you're interested.


	9. Science

There was only one street light in the alleyway. It illuminated the mistake he made, deciding to come out the back. All he saw a stick thin Steve Rogers getting punched behind each dumpster. He screamed, reaching for something to hold onto. His hands found the edge of a dumpster. The steel bent a little beneath his grip. Then he sent it flying down the alley to crash into another one. He stumbled a couple steps and came up against cold wet brick. Flesh and metal dug into the clay, crushing it as he tried to hold on.

The corndog. As fresh as his new memory of Coney Island. A tall roller coaster. Steve, barely level with his shoulder, throwing up. Then, overlapping like photographs, the edge of a cliff in winter. A long cable across a ravine. Train tracks below.

“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?” 

A man taller than him. Blond hair, round shield with an American star across his back. “Yeah, and I threw up?”

“This isn’t payback, is it?” That man laughing. Like Steve would laugh.

The boy in his mind. The man from the river. _‘til the end of the line._ They were the same person. He finally had proof. His proof, from his own memories.

How? Didn’t matter. Something told him those memories were there too. How had he ended up with a metal arm? Science. Science cured Steve of everything and made him strong.

It had made James a thing. A mindless hulk. No better than the guns he wore under his jacket. 

A weapon. Sent after Steve. _You know me._

Frozen and defrosted too many times for even a sane mine to remember, much less his. Science had killed Bucky, a long time ago.

Steve’s face, broken and bloody. Eye swelling shut. “I’m not going to fight you.” 

He came back to himself slowly. He was on his knees, fingers dug into the brick. He could feel the brick embedded into his flesh fingers. Blood melted into the rain just as easily as the tears on his face. The memory of Steve falling with the debris. He shivered. The rain was trickling down the neck of his jacket, soaking his hair to his skull. A thing, put out with the trash. He wasn’t Bucky, not Steve’s Bucky.

Bucky was dead.

A soft step down the alley. From the open door. So soft. Had to be the girl. Parker, they said her name was. He didn’t want to look up.

Her voice came from five feet behind him. Sweet, like the flowers in a meadow he camped in once. Before? After? Sometime. It had been warm. Good memory.

“It’s okay, you know. We put your notebook away, zipped up your backpack. We won’t look.” 

His backpack. All that work. He needed to write this down too, before he forgot again. Steve. Steve was alive. He’d seen him on the news, snippets here and there. His Steve, from a different world. The serum still worked, after all this time.

James turned and looked at Parker finally. She flinched. Heat filled him as he looked down again. Still the Asset. If Steve was the golden boy, the perfect one now, what was he?

“It’s okay. I’m not afraid of you.” He looked again. She didn’t move this time. “Come back in. Let us help. Tell us what you need.” 

What did he need? 

He needed to know. “Who am I?” 

Parker came a little closer, standing in the rain next to him. “You’re James. You’re hurt.” She stepped around him to lean against the wall. “We know that pain. Eliot and I, we both… didn’t feel, for a long time. It hurts.” Softer. “A lot.” 

No sound from the rest of the alley, but he glanced back anyways. Only Parker had come out. And now she was touching his arm. Firm. Almost…trusting.

“Come back inside. We’re going to help you.” She held out her hand to him. A choice. She was offering, but it was his choice.

He closed his eyes. The rain shifted, as storms do. How did he know that? Then it let go to really pound down. He opened his eyes. 

Took her hand. 

Let her lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta reader mentioned that it might be best to reference whichever episode of Leverage I'm mentioning, so starting here, I will. Although generally so far the only reference is all of Season 5 in the Brewpub.


	10. Aggies

Parker was unlike anyone he could remember. Or thought he remembered. She understood.

She’d returned his backpack, then led him upstairs.

“This is my old apartment. You’re welcome to everything but the clothes. I’ll steal Eliot’s for you.” It was small, tiny kitchen on the side of a living room. The couch looked like it could swallow him whole. He would have been satisfied staying there. 

Parker didn’t stop, but led him into the bedroom. “Bathroom there, full shower. I’ll get some of Hardison’s stuff for you. He smells better than Eliot, but don’t tell them I said so.” 

The bed looked even better than the couch. He remembered sleeping in a bed once. Before. Before the train. When Steve was small. Tousled head little girl beside him, begging for one more story.

Parker waited until he brought himself back. How did she know? 

“I’m going to show you two things I never showed Hardison. One, the air vent exit. Two, the roof exit. You look like someone who wants options.” 

She did. The vents, wide enough for her, felt claustrophobic to him. The roof of the building had good sight lines. Clear to jump to neighboring buildings. Parker let him make his own recon. She stood in the center of the roof, watching him. He had a feeling she approved of the choices he made. She had made them first.

Back down to her apartment. Eliot had brought in clothes, razor, other things. Then they both left.

Let him lock the door behind them.

Trusted him in their house. Him! He was well aware of what he’d become. He’d read enough newspapers along the way to know. Everyone knew.

He watched the door for ten minutes. Listened to the building settle. Doors in the floor above opened. Closed. Opposite corner of the building from where he was. 

Next, he did a thorough search of the entire apartment. No cameras or video links. No microphones that he recognized. Would he recognize one now? Hydra hadn’t been big on giving him any tech, any knowledge, beyond weapons training. 

Two hidden compartments. One empty. Second had cash, IDs, jewelry. He left it alone. 

The last place he investigated was the bathroom. James wished she’d thought to show him the controls. Bathing had become… complicated. 

He couldn’t avoid the mirror now. He took his time to turn around and look at himself. Look at who James was on the outside. 

His hair was down below his shoulders. Grey streaks were starting to peek through from the part. His face was hollow beneath the beard. It itched. 

He itched. 

He turned away from the mirror and went back to the shower, punching buttons until he knew what started, what stopped. What heated. Stripped to the skin willingly.

Stepping under the hot water was a revelation. Revelation. He knew that word. A memory of a priest. Sunday Mass.

To his surprise, he was able to shut off the memory, hold it in place until later. He turned his face up into the water, holding that thought of a memory still in his mind. Like a marble he’d carried in his pocket when he was eight. Steve had one exactly like it. More marbles to hold in his head.

Then he realized the water was making him sputter, so he took a step back. Breathed. Stepped back in. 

Realized he could feel the heat on every part of himself, except the arm. He wondered if the water would damage it. He’d had that thought often since fishing the man out of the river.

What would happen to him if he let the arm become unusable?

He stepped to the left, out of the way. Gave in to the memories, let the ancient and worn ones guide him in what to do. 

An hour later, he sat on the couch, clean-shaven. Glock tucked comfortably under his thigh. Wearing the clothes Eliot had left. He had no idea how to wash what he’d worn. One of the things to ask these strangers tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

For the first time since he had walked away from the river’s edge, he was clean. He was warm. He had a full belly. He might even be safe.

His face was wet. He reached up with his right hand, felt the tears on his cheek. Pulled back his hand in wonder. Twice tonight, he had cried. The first time since Zola had started experimenting on him. Before Steve had become strong. 

Parker had been right. It did hurt. But this was a different kind of pain. 

He turned back into himself, pulled up the marbles of memory. Dove into them completely. 

#

 

The sun woke him the next morning. He was curled up on the floor, back against the couch. In the cavity created by his knees along his belly, a large stuffed rabbit, a bunny with extra long ears leaned against him. He realized after a minute, his face felt different.

He was smiling.


	11. Thank You Iceland and Orange Soda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the finale of Season 2 Agent Carter.

One thing Alec loved about his partnership with Eliot and Parker, was how they let him process. All their years together had taught them what each needed to handle things. Eliot cooked or boxed or built things. Parker planned break-in scenarios or counted her cash money. Alec panicked first, then dove into finding out every little detail about what they were facing. Nate used to cover for him when he missed a detail, and taught him from those instances. He didn’t have that luxury anymore.

Which is why he was the last to bed and the first to get up, even before Eliot. He’d written six new algorithms to data mine everything he had or could find about the Winter Soldier, then wrote six additional programs to camouflage the first six. Then built a brand new sandbox for them to play in on a remote server before setting them free. 

He’d listened to Parker and hadn’t turned on any cameras inside her apartment,   
(“How long were those there, Hardison?”)  
but he had set motion sensors up around the apartment and on the roof ages ago. All were quiet. All Parker had said after she’d brought the Soldier in was, “He’s hurt. He needs us.” Out of the three, only Alec was nervous.

Because he was the one who knew how badly the rest of the world wanted to find the Soldier. No, James. He’d follow his partners’ lead on that. Once they got their butts out of bed. He was the first one up, and gone through two bottles of orange soda before he heard the other two stir. But now that he had what he wanted, Alec knew what to do next.

“He was sleeping on the floor, Eliot! Who does that?” Parker murmured to Eliot’s shoulder as they walked into the war room. 

“He’s a war vet, Parker. He’s been further through hell than anyone else I know of. Remember the interrogation study we crashed back in Boston? He’s just like those guys.” 

Good to know. Alec filed that away even as he cleared his screen to face them. “Good morning, it’s so nice of you to join me. Did you get much sleep, Hardison? No. I did not. And here’s why.” 

He turned back to the screen. “I was up making sure that no one, and I do mean no one, back traced any of my work to us. Iceland is being good to me again. You never appreciate details, so moving on.”

“Thank you,” Eliot muttered behind his coffee cup.

“I heard that, Eliot. And you cut me. Listen. Up.” He threw up the information he had from the very beginning. “James Buchanan Barnes. Born March 10, 1917. No, that is not a typo. Best friends with Steven Rogers. Went to war while Rogers hung around and got juiced up to become Captain America. Amazing, I know, let’s stick with Barnes. Captured by Hydra, 1943. Who knows what they did to him then. Rescued by Captain America, then became one of his Howling Commandos.” He paused, looking at Eliot over Parker’s head. He knew this already. “Supposedly died falling from a train in that same year. Here’s where the history books stop.”

He took his time now, narrating what he’d been able to piece together so far. “Whatever Hydra did to him, he survived the fall.” Queue the Russian prisoner files and photo. Angry, but human. One and a half arms, but alive. “Captured by Russians, kept because they had the files on what Zola did to him. They used him as a lab rat for cryogenics.” Most of the files were still untranslated, but the photos were stark enough.

“Cryo what?” Parker asked, leaning forward.

“Frozen suspension. Explains why he’s still alive today. How long did they keep him on ice?” Eliot asked. Hardison saw his hand sneak to the small of Parker’s back. More conversations that they hadn’t included him in.

“Not long enough. Enter, or rather, re-enter Arnim Zola, the same one that Captain Rogers rescued Barnes from back in ‘43. Shield thought they were putting him to use, but they really only set him free. This is now 1956.” New photos and files of the experiments and surgeries. Not enough on the cybernetic arm, yet. “He continued the experimentation, but added mind control and cybernetics. First mission of the man we now know as the Winter Soldier, I think, 1961. I’m still translating and decoding most of those files.”

“And since then?” Parker’s face was dark. She was taking this one personal. Which meant that they were seeing this one through. 

“Mindwiped, put back in cryo. Brought out and updated, then sent on missions. I don’t know how many times they ran that machine on him. Too many. I don’t even know how he knew his name was James.” 

“Because Steve told me it was.” 

All three turned to look at the man leaning against the door jamb. He was wearing a pair of Eliot’s jeans that were too big in the waist and too short in the leg, as well as a sweatshirt that almost swallowed him whole. His arms were crossed, flesh over metal. But even Alec had to admit that he looked a lot better. He was studying the screen intently, tracking far more than he had the night before. “How did you do that?”

#

Eliot shifted over a seat, offering his to James. Hardison watched him move forward to take it, settling in between his two partners. What melted his heart a little though, was the look of awe on James’ face as he drank in the big screens. 

“All of that is me?” 

“Hardison is a hacker, this is what he does. No one can hide anything from him.” Parker beamed at him in pride. That took the sting out of a lot of things for him. 

“I don’t know that word, hacker.” Now James was looking at him, curious. 

“It’s a slang word for computer programmer. I say I hack code, but what I do is dig into the underlying programs of things and rewrite them how I want.” Hardison was well aware that most of the tech words went right over his audience’s head. Today, it seemed, more than usual.

“And he is the best,” Eliot added. Seriously, all this was going to his head now.

“Well, I have managed to keep Hydra, Shield, the FBI, the CIA, Yakuza, Interpol, and Tony Stark from finding us.” Hardison smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Stark?” James frowned, cocking his head the opposite way. “Like Howard Stark?”

“His son,” Eliot said. “Runs half the Avengers stuff these days.” 

“Did he ever finish his levitating car?” James had that far off look now, one Hardison was coming to associate being lost in memories. 

“Levitating? Yeah he levitated it. Right into a worm hole, then refused to build another one.” 

James smiled, still lost in the memory. “It crashed at the fair too. He promised though.” 

The three partners shared glances over James’ head. Parker shrugged. The Hardison remembered. “The Modern Marvels exhibit!” He twirled his controller, flashing up a photo that was taken then, sparks flying from the gravitational units as it started to crash.

“I was there with Steve!” James bit his bottom lip, leaning back on his chair. “That was the last time I saw him before the serum.” His fingers scratched on the table in front of him. Parker found paper while Eliot got him a pen. Then just like the night before, he lost himself in writing furiously, lost in his own head.

Finally, it clicked for Hardison. The notebook from the night before, that’s how he was keeping track of what he remembered. In that instant, he went from terrifyingly dangerous to someone else, someone that Hardison could begin to understand. Now he saw what Parker and Eliot had. Now he got it.

He started to say something when the silent alarm started flashing through the office. “Okay, that is not good.” 

He sent all his information to the secure data vault again, flipping the screens to look at the brew pub downstairs. “Some bad juju just tripped my sensors.”

Amy stood at the hostess stand again, talking to someone. Eliot stiffened even as Parker stood up. It looked like just a regular customer to Bucky. With a gun under their arm. Holstered. He was also looking around, marking where the cameras were. 

On Alec’s tablet, a different program started to blink and beep. “Uhm, that’s Hydra tech that setting off the alarm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I got a little creative with Bucky's timeline according to the MCU. I just did what sounded logical to me. And what's a little more pain to add to the mix?   
> Episodes of Leverage Mentioned: Season 4, Ep 11, the Experimental Job. Again, Amy is from Season 5, Ep 8, the Broken Wing Job.  
> Spoilers for the finale of Season 2 Agent Carter. Referenced as where Howard's levitating car went.


	12. Gummy Frogs

At the word Hydra, his memories leapt back behind the iron plated doors in his head. He stared at the images on the screen, calculating how long it would take to get his stuff and be ready. To fight? To run? He actually wasn’t sure. Another choice. He’d choose to run. So tired of fighting.

He realized he’d snapped the pencil in his hand. He put both halves down, folded the paper and stuck it in his shirt. Control.

No one had noticed. Hardison, this amazing genius, was already working on his computer things, muttering to the screens. More cameras woke, showing the roof and the alley behind. All empty. 

A hand, light on his shoulder. Flesh against the metal. “It’s something we keep an eye out for, but it does happen. They wander in just like any other hungry person.” Parker, calm, reasoned. Despite her hand on his arm, the metal of his hand creaked from the tightness of the fist. 

On a new screen, a spill of green text started scrolling. It meant nothing to him, but Hardison cackled in glee. “Spoofed his phone from the hostess desk. I told you my upgrades would work.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, what are you getting?” Eliot had stood up to join Hardison by the screen.

“General contacts, encryption, some very nasty photos. Seriously, Po-lo-roids people! We don’t need that on the net!” Now the hacker had two keyboards, one for each hand. Hacker. Interesting connotation, now that he’d seen it in progress. James forced himself to sit back down. Forced his heart beat to steady. Parker stayed beside him. No longer touching, but close. There was a memory there… but the doors would not open with a threat in play.

On the screen, Amy sat the stranger near the window, brought him water, then went back to the front.

“Bingo, he’s low level, just a street punk by Hydra’s standards. But this new encryption’s enough to feed a few new trace bots for me.” Hardison was in his world again. Hacker. James was sure that most of the things he was seeing were anything but legal. But necessary. He found a smile on his lips again. Who was he to worry about being legal?

No, he only had to worry about being found. His tactical mind continued to update the possibilities and his choices of action.

But it was running in the back of his consciousness. He could think on two paths now. This was new. Just one night here, and he’d made that leap?

Maybe Hardison could decipher the ledgers he’d found in the Hydra bank box. He pulled out the paper again. Used the broken point of the pencil to write himself a note. Another memory tried to wedge its way past the door. 

“Uhm, this however, this is not Hydra.” Hardison cocked his head. Had he forgotten they were there? Or did he trust these two that much? He looked at Parker again. Her eyes were on the backs of the two men. Their bond went deep, even he could see that.

Something beeped. Steady, like a heart monitor. He looked around, making sure there were no techs coming up behind him. No one to whisper those words that made him go willingly into the machine. He looked at his hands again. The pencil was in several more pieces now.

“That... is definitely not Hydra. Uhm, Parker? Baby? Could you take James back to your room? It’s the only place without cameras right now.” 

“Dammit Hardison, start explaining.” Eliot was rolling up his sleeves, like he was going to go tackle the Hydra agent downstairs. 

Punching something sounded really good right now. Just needed a target to present itself.

Parker didn’t try to lead him away. Instead, she grabbed his metal hand and tugged the sweatshirt sleeve all the way down, covering it.

“Hello.” The voice was clipped, very distinct. “I’m afraid the database you are trying to access is classified. I seem to be having some difficulty locating you.” 

“Yeah, uh, whoever you are, you are doing the same thing. This is a private server so you can just yank your nose out and hop back on your plane to England or wherever.” Hardison muttered. Something happened to the screens to wipe them clean. James made a fist inside the sweatshirt. Shifted so that his hair dropped into his face. 

“As I am not exactly anywhere either, it would be difficult to do as you ask. I must say, this is fine workmanship. Are you an AI too? Is that why I cannot see you?” 

Hardison chortled. “Hehe, wouldn’t you like to know. I know who you are!” His voice had lifted into a sing song. “Only one like you in the world. How is Mr. Stark?” 

“Rather busy at the moment. I do hope you’re not thinking of doing something drastic.” Had he heard a voice like that before? Dry yet edged like a blade? 

“Naw, nothing drastic. Nothing like your boss who wants to,” the screen flickered, then information began streaming like a water fall. “Failing to track Hydra and Shield at the same time? Tsk Tsk, there’s a lot of us out here who wouldn’t like that, you know. Oh and look here, a suit of armor around the whole earth? Not possible. Since when did Stark start writing comic books? They’re supposed to write about him!”

“I must ask you to stop. Please. Cease your attack or I will be forced to-” The voice fell silent.

The screens went blank. All alarms stopped blinking and flashing. 

“Well ain’t that a kick in the pants.” Hardison dropped onto the couch in front of the table, chortling to himself.

“I’ll give you a kick in the pants if you don’t tell me what all that was.” Eliot was cracking his knuckles. 

“That was Jarvis. You just met Tony Stark’s personal AI, and I just raided his house and kicked him out of ours. Now if you want me to keep him out, please bring me the soda and the gummy frogs and go away.” Hardison didn’t look back, just leapt into some other computer thing that made all the screens go green text. It made his head hurt.

“What the hell are gummy frogs?” James asked aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should mention that at least 2/3rds of this fic was written while under the influence of gummy worms.  
> Amy again is from S5E8 of Leverage. The phone spoofing is from too many episodes to quote, every season. Made me keep the bare minimum on my phone, lemme tell ya.


	13. Who ya gonna call?

With Hardison distracted for who knew how long, Parker and Eliot did what they thought was most sensible. Feed James. 

For more than a decade, Parker had watched Eliot cook. Twice as often, she’d watched Eliot eat. That level of intake had become her idea of normal.

James could put away twice as much, easily. 

Today though, he was much more involved with them. Not just the eating, but the process as well. When he followed Eliot into the kitchen, he’d stayed right beside the hitter, asking questions and trying bites straight from whatever Eliot was working on. So Parker did too. She loved doing that, when Eliot let her. 

The fourth time Eliot tripped over her, he finally said, “Parker, why don’t you go check on Hardison? We’ve got it here.” He softened the words with a quick kiss to her cheek. So she stepped back and let Eliot do what he loved, cook and talk food. 

Upstairs, Hardison was still working on fixing whatever loophole it was that the talking computer had slipped through. He looked up momentarily when she kissed the top of his head, but it’d be hours before she could fish him out. 

So she went to her usual work bench, then picked up the phone, wondering who would answer this time.

A thick British accent greeted her. “Yes, this is the phone of the Lady Charlotte.” Charlotte? Oh yeah, her other identity. 

“This is Alice, I’m Lady Charlotte’s niece, may I speak with her please?” Whoever that was, it wasn’t Charlotte. Unless she had a new con going on.

The accent slid right into the normal voice she loved. “Parker, you don’t have to introduce yourself so formally all the time.” 

“Hi Sophie. I need some advice. Some brain advice.” 

“Are you and the boys all right? Hardison sent us new phones just last week.” 

Parker smiled. The grifter might be the most perceptive woman in the world, but she still treated the three of them as her children. More now that when she was working with them. “No, we’re fine, we’re good. It’s a new client. He’s got really bad memory issues. Eliot’s feeding him right now.” 

“That’s usually a good place to start. What’s the job?” 

“We don’t have a con yet, we’re still in the information gathering stage. Hardison’s been working for two days now. I don’t think there’ll be a con needed. It’s a different kind of case for us.” 

Parker could hear Sophie shift and settle into a chair. “Tell me about him.” 

“Well, it’s complicated. He’s had a lot of things done to his memory, to his mind. He’s hurt, bad. Like… Me and Eliot combined.”

“Oh no, that’s not good. Is he aware of how bad the damage is?”

“I think so? He’s got all these notebooks that he keeps writing things down into, things he remembers.” Parker took a moment, playing with her favorite tricky tumbler lock to calm herself, then went for it. “What do you know about the Winter Soldier?” 

The silence went on so long that Parker checked to make sure her cell phone hadn’t hung up on Sophie. “Parker, are you saying you have _Him_ there?”

She’d never gone to normal school. But somehow Sophie always made her feel like she gave the wrong answer in class. “Maybe?”

“And you said that Eliot has Him in the kitchen, cooking.” The words were slow and precise. 

“And eating. He eats a lot. More than Eliot even!” 

“Okay. This is not anything I ever expected to hear, so I’m just trying to process. Are you okay?”

Parker paused. Sophie had asked this enough times over the years to know that what she wanted to know, was Parker emotionally balanced for this. “Yeah, I think so. He’s so quiet, and lost. I’ve never seen anyone so lost before.” She paused, then added, “He slept on the floor. He had the couch and my old bedroom but he slept on the floor, Sophie, hiding. Eliot said he was like the soldiers from Boston.” 

“It’s quite possible that he does have PTSD. That’s a good way to start. Just be gentle with him, and don’t push. Pushing with him might be a disaster.” 

“Oh yeah, we know. He took Eliot down the night we bumped into him.” 

“Oh. Ooh. Now this is a story I want to hear!” So Parker replayed the night to her, with all the pertinent details as she decided them. “And he hasn’t killed anyone?” 

“Totally gone the Eliot way. He’s fast too!” She looked up as Hardison started talking to himself louder, shifting to take her call down the hall to their bedroom. “You’re the grifter, Sophie. You know how people think. What do we do?” 

“It’s the same way you size up a mark. You figure out what it is that he wants, and what he’s willing to do to get it. Only he’s the client, so you help him get it instead of robbing him blind.” 

“That totally makes sense when you say it, but how do we fix a brain?” 

Sophie didn’t get to answer. The fire alarm started going off. Parker headed to the stairs to see what was going on. “Gotta go Sophie, I think Eliot let him set the kitchen on fire again.” 

“Wait, Parker! Again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Leverage, the PTSD comments are regarding The Experimental Job, S4E11. Lady Charlotte is from The King George Job, S3E12. Parker's alias Alice is from the Juror #6 Job, S1E11.  
> The title is from the other movie I can't wait to see this summer.


	14. Perspective

After the warmth of the brewpub, the abandoned building seemed twice as cold now. Before, the cold didn’t seem to matter. He’d adjusted that quickly.

Or was it that he gave himself permission to let it matter? 

Either way, staying here no longer appealed to James. He stood in the doorway of the auditorium, scouting out the room first. His life of the previous three weeks lay spread out across the open floor. He hadn’t expected anyone to come up here. Only Parker had.

She stood next to him, a couple empty backpacks and boxes. “All of this is yours? Where did you get it?”

James shrugged. Some of it, he didn’t remember. The early days after DC blurred a lot. “Libraries. Newspapers. Other caches that I could find.” 

“Hardison said he found news reports of other spots that you’d hit.” Parker shrugged, looking around. “Where do you want to start?” 

James pointed to the far side of the auditorium, at his own face. The splintered wood by some of the other chairs reminded him of his anger. “You should let me do this. They make me mad. I don’t,” He paused, looking for the right words. “I can’t always control it.” 

“Okay. So I’ll let you do this, and I’ll go box up the one in the back. He seems to piss you off most.” 

James shivered. Let himself nod. Didn’t trust for any words to come out. Parker waited for a second, then nodded and took a box to the back. Not looking at Zola would be good a good thing. 

The cardboard crunched a little in his hand. He forced himself to relax. Then went to box up all the papers and clippings that he’d collected about himself. The leaflet from the museum. He opened it to look through once more. The last time, it had confused him. But now he had the memory that this was the same Steve. The words made sense now.

He forced himself to put everything in the box. There would be time to go through it again. Later. And this time it would mean more.

Parker was much more efficient than he was. Yet her presence was soothing too. She sat on the stage, going through the money he’d admitted to having. She made a lot of comments about the money. Her voice helped ground him. Distracted him as he boxed up Pierce. Boxed up the techs that had assisted Zola. 

He slowed when it came to the faces he’d not been able to place before. Dum Dum. Gabe. Morita. Falsworth. Dernier too. Their voices, their laughs, all of it swam up to the surface a little easier. What had happened to them? History books didn’t tell much. Hardison would know. 

Then Peggy. She had looked at Steve, truly seen the man that he was. James had loved her for that. He remembered that now. Were they all gone? Was it just him and Steve now? 

Parker had fallen silent, watching him. He pulled his eyes away, turning to look at her. Yes, she was like Peggy too. Maybe that’s why it was easier to remember now. Perspective. He knew that word, somehow. Knew it applied here. 

He looked back at the box he’d finished. There was one chair left. He couldn’t look up. It was just papers. Photos. A couple books. But it still felt like Steve sat there. Waiting for him to acknowledge him. _Finish the mission._ No.

James grabbed the box and turned to take it to the pile by Parker. His tongue was thick. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, then huffed in frustration. Too much. Overload.

A soft hand on his shoulder. “I’ll finish that one for you too.” The woman slipped off the stage to go to the chair, leaving the last of the bank box contents for him. Had she grown up, knowing about Steve? About him? 

James turned and slammed his right fist into the stage. He kept punching until the wood cracked and gave way. And still it wasn’t enough for the fury inside him. Blood dripped on the ruined wood. He watched it. Counting the drops. Listened to the rustle of paper behind him. Counted until his breathing steadied. Until his heart beat was normal. 

Wiped his hand on a scrap of blanket he’d once slept under. Finished the job. Soon, the place looked like an abandoned auditorium again.


	15. Where in the World is Steven Rogers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK updating kinda early this week cause tomorrow's gonna be busy. And also, you guys are awesome. Working on a side fic for when I hit 100 kudos, just something to celebrate with.  
> Also, you may be happy to know I'm working on chapter #37. Just in case you might be worried. *halo*

Hardison was having a very good day. Well, apart from their new client trying to burn down the brewpub. Only a small pan fire, but hey, it still set off all the alarms and tripped half his systems into save mode. But other than that, the day had been pure candy. 

Since his partners usually didn’t want to hear the long explanation, he’d skip telling them that it was one of his tracer programs that Jarvis had tracked back to the pub. Especially since he was 99.9% sure that he’d erased that trace so Jarvis couldn’t find his way back. Instead he’d followed Jarvis’ trail right into Stark Industries. 

Most of the stuff held no interest for Alec, but he wanted to know what Stark knew about cybernetics and prosthesis, particularly what he’d done with the records that Shield had ripped from Hydra. James’ arm had to be listed there. Sooner or later, Hardison knew he’d get a chance to look at it. He wanted to be ready when he did. 

By dark, he couldn’t even taste orange soda anymore, and most of the work he’d done was secured and safe. So he stood up and stretched, then promptly tripped over the mess he’d made while he worked. Neither of his mates were there. He’d be able to lie about falling down the rabbit hole. Maybe. 

He texted Eliot that he was done, cleaned up, and went for a shower. A long one. When he stepped back out, Parker was sitting on the vanity, holding his towel. “You are a sight for sore eyes,” he murmured, giving her a soft kiss before taking the towel. “How did it go?”

“He punched up the stage. But he didn’t shoot anything. And he’s got these really old ledgers, like the spreadsheets you work with sometimes. He wants you to decipher them if you can.”

“Hold up, hold up. He punched up the stage?” Hardison paused, watching her while trying to catch his breath. If he had hurt Parker… His next call would be to Tony Stark.

“He was hurting. And he’s spent the last 70 years hurting other people. So a stage is okay target, really.” Parker’s face was drawn. These sort of cases really got to her, but she had picked this one. Because she had decided that it was the right thing to do. That lesson had been the hardest one for Parker to learn, early on.

Hardison wrapped the towel around his waist, then reached to pull her in for a tight hug. “I know, baby, I know. I got a lot more information for him. We can do this. We can help him.” 

“I like the ‘We’ part. I feel like it’s you and Eliot doing most of the work.” She snuggled into him, still trusting him. So she still couldn’t read minds. 

“He seems to trust you the most. I know he wouldn’t let me go with him today to gather all that stuff up. Hey, look at it this way,” he said, pulling back to tilt her chin up. “For most of his life, it’s been men doing all these things to him, creating a living hell for him and sending him out to do bad things. As far as I can tell, Peggy Carter is the only woman before you who’s even been close to him, other than family. He also had three sisters, so he might see you that way. This means he can relax more with you than me or Eliot.” 

“You should find out about his family first then. Cause he’s gonna want to know.” Parker smiled at him, then gave him a kiss back. “Eliot’s bringing up supper. James is taking a moment in my old room. I think we should let him stay there for now.” 

Hardison nodded, but he was already thinking that maybe having Tony Stark or Steve Rogers on speed dial wouldn’t be a bad thing. 

#

They waited until after dinner before they picked up any conversation. James spent half the meal trying different combinations of all the finger foods, even some combos that Hardison knew to be an abomination to the taste buds. The other half he was silent, watching the three of them talk over prospective jobs. There were still a lot of hinky things going down in Portland. He liked Hardison’s experimental brew, so that earned him points in his favor.

After dinner, James wandered over to the computer screens. Hardison went with him, keeping a couple steps space so that he wouldn’t feel crowded. “All of this, this is you?” The ice blue eyes bored into him. Most days Hardison was braggadocio and loud. Today, he knew that honesty would be better.

“It is. I’ve spent most of my life learning everything you can do with computers. Biggest thieves in the world used computers instead of force to make their scores.” 

James nodded, looking again, nudging a keyboard with a fingertip. “Is it hard to learn? This computer stuff?” 

Hardison shrugged. “What I do, you’d have to work up to. But the basics? I can teach you the basics, then it’ll just be learning at your own speed.” 

“I was at a library, somewhere in Colorado. Very nice woman taught me how to search for articles. She thought I was job searching.” James had that introverted look again, looking inward to himself. “But it was too much. Overload.” 

“We can narrow it down, a lot if you need to. What did you want to search for?” 

“I want to know where Steve Rogers is. As much as possible. I don’t,” the old assassin frowned, looking at the door. “I don’t want to keep moving around, just so he can’t find me.” 

Hardison nodded, hearing Parker’s voice again in his head. Scared, and hurting. And now hiding from the one friend in the world who truly loved him, if the articles were true. If Eliot or Parker, or even Nate or Sophie, decided that they couldn’t bear to be near him, it’d be a blow his ego would never recover from. 

“Here, what I can do is this,” he said, moving to separate a screen to the left of the others. Once he tapped in a few commands, it started scrolling with information. Steve Rogers had been seen in Austria, breaking up another Hydra base. “He’s in Europe right now. Continuing the fight.”

James stepped forward, looking at the photo that had popped up. He touched it gently, biting his bottom lip before pulling back. “Thank you,” he said simply, before going to sit at the end of the table closest to that screen.


	16. Spy Stuff

Hardison had started off slow, giving the news about Bucky’s family gently. His parents, his sisters. Names that rattled around in his head but didn’t trigger anything but soft fuzzy memories just yet. All passed, All gone. Mourned him while he sat in the cryo chamber. He had a dozen nieces and nephews though, and their children. Some day… maybe. 

It was awkward now, the three of them watching him. Asking him what he wanted from here. Expecting James to know what he wanted. That’s what he wanted to know too. 

Hardison had already fulfilled the first need. Where Steve was. He glanced at the scrolling screen again, news reports popping up in short bursts. He itched to slow it down, read the articles. Find out who Steve Rogers is. He didn’t think he could trust his memories.

_You know me._

No he didn’t.

He realized he’d fallen silent again. James looked down at his hands. The scabs from that afternoon were already peeling. What he wanted. 

What he needed was to know.

He looked up at Hardison, biting his lip. “You said you found a lot of information. Were you able to get into Hydra? I need,” he paused. Took a deep breath. “I need to know how they did, what they did.” Knocked on his metal forearm with his flesh knuckles. “How they made this. How it works. How to maintain it now.” 

“I’ve come up with a lot of information. When the helicarriers went down that day, Natasha Romanoff dumped all of Shield and Hydra within Shield’s records and files on the open net. Some of it did have to do with you. When Jarvis butted in this morning, I was able to back trace and find out what Stark has assembled so far. I’m good, but Stark is still the best.” Hardison turned, then pulled up all the aggregated files about the cybernetic arm that he’d found so far.

“This is amazing, really amazing work. I’d love to take a look at it some day, but only when you give me permission.” He started rambling on about specifications, but James knew immediately he’d never be able to do repairs on his own.

He held up his hand. “Overload. Just... Yes or no. If it breaks, can you fix it?” 

Hardison chewed on his lip. “I think so. Hesitant yes. If there’s major damage, I’m not sure I could replace it. If I had to, it may not be at its current strength.” 

James nodded, then held up two fingers. “The… the machine.” He tapped his head. “Are those records there too?” 

Hardison gave a slow nod. “It wasn’t just that thing. They used multiple techniques on you. There are certain words that I’m going to write down, and we are not going to use them, until we know if they can be un-programmed out of you.” 

The words slipped before he could think. “Compliance will be rewarded.” 

“Those are some of them. Yes. What I could not find out was, whether or not that abomination still exists.” 

“It doesn’t.” James found a bitter smile, looking up. “I went back, to report. But when I went inside, no one was there. Just the… hardware. I destroyed it.” Burned the building down around the remains of it.

“Good. I’m already taking measures to trace down all copies and erase them. I erased our identities from the grid, I can do that too.” 

“Identities? Grid?” They were Parker, Eliot, and Hardison. Were those lies?

Parker dug out her wallet, showed him the one thing he did not have, a driver’s license. “Hardison has fake identities for all three of us, while our real names, he’s been able to erase from government and international records. Everything is digital these days.” 

He looked at the driver’s license. It said Alice White, and had a photo of Parker’s. “Like… spies?” 

“Along the same lines, yeah. I’m already building documentation for you, because I assume you don’t have anything.” 

James shook his head. There had been some tense times, during his cross country travel. His oldest memories supplied a passport, before he went to war. “I need that.”

“All I need to finish them is a name. I thought maybe you’d like to choose that yourself. James Buchanan Barnes would send up too many red flags.”

He leaned back in his chair. His heart pounded and his breath quickened at the idea. Choose his own name. Choose who he would be, facing the rest of the world.

Who did he want to be?

“I suggest you keep the first name James,” Eliot said. “Easier to remember right now. But you can pick any last name you want.” 

He nodded. A new article flashed on the Steve screen. He loved Steven. He hated him. And he was a little afraid. _Finish the mission._ There were too many parameters unknown to successfully plan that mission. 

“Grant,” he blurted, surprising himself. “James Grant.” It was simple. And it was a promise that he could carry with him. A promise that he’d be able to face Steven Grant Rogers again, and finally settle whatever that was between them.

“Good. Sneaky too. Doubt Rogers would expect you to use that name. I like it.” Hardison turned, then started to assemble a profile on the screen. A camera turned to take a quick photo, which also popped up on the screen. James watched in awe as the background disappeared from the photo. Then subtle changes happened to the image. His eyes widened. His jaw was lowered. His hair was lengthened. His cheekbones became more pronounced. The final photo still looked like him, yet not. 

“Okay, that aught to keep any facial recognition programs from triggering.” Hardison was muttering to himself now.

“What he’s doing is adding that photo, plus documentation into the census records. He’s also creating a file for you with the DMV,” Parker explained. “By the time he’s done, you’ll have a driver’s license, credit cards, probably a military history.” 

“Oh good thinking, babe,” Hardison interjected.

“And a history of where you’ve been the past two decades, backed up by government records,” Eliot finished.

Overload. They fell silent, giving him time to adjust. “Spy stuff,” James finally said.

No, he had a last name now. James Grant had said that. It made his head swim. Just like that, he had a new name. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stay grounded, then repeated himself. “Spy stuff.”


	17. Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

The base in Austria was just a minor one, but it held some interesting intel about other nearby bases. As much as he wanted to keep going, Steve decided to listen to Natasha and Clint this time. The three of them needed the others to round out the team if this intel was as up to date as they thought it was. And Thor really wanted in on getting that scepter back. 

So here he found himself, back at Avenger’s tower. God, he hated that name. It was still Tony’s place, with his stamp all over it. The one good thing about coming back was meeting up with Sam again. And hope that there’s any good news. 

The news wasn’t good, but it had potential. Sam had brought Thai food along with the files. One more thing scratched off his list. So far, more to his tastes than Pho. 

“I picked up the trail again in Kansas, around Wichita. A bank vault was raided, a safe deposit box that was never on record. I’ve got the surveillance footage and it’s definitely him. Then he paid for bus fare to Denver, and that’s where I lost him again. I’m searching for more bank records too. That’s the third one he’s hit so far.” 

“And no one’s gotten killed since New Jersey, right? Any idea what’s in those vaults?” While Sam ate his pad thai with chop sticks, Steve was too sore from healing to even bother. Besides, spinning the noodles up reminded him of spinning spaghetti as a kid, with Bucky sitting right beside him. It seemed fitting to have that memory while he searched. 

“Nope, he seems to have reined that in, somehow. And these were Hydra vaults. Really old vaults. I found one in Natasha’s files that he seems to have skipped. Had money, supplies, ID’s, everything an operative would need while on the run. But really out of date. The passports were all stamped in the 1970’s.” Sam passed the file over to Steve. “Money still spends, no matter how old it is.”

“That’s true. Why is he going west though?” He sorted the information on the passports into a separate pile. They looked soviet made, so Natasha might have some ideas on that.

“Probably looking for an exit on the West Coast, where security isn’t expecting him. People don’t expect things to happen out there, too quiet. It’s a good place to blend in. Some of the DEA agents I talked to say it’s a pipe line for illegal aliens and drugs, along that road. Maybe he’s gonna try to slip out of the country that way.” 

“I don’t know.” Steve leaned back into his couch, staring at the files, then looked up at Sam. “Have you had any luck with the other VA centers?” 

“Nope. Several reports of guys like him, but no metal arms. It would be a natural thing for him to be treated like a vet. But no one’s saying anything. And now with tech companies coming up with replica arms based off the released data, most of the ones I find are just copycats.”

“Now see, that is the one thing I’ll never get used to,” Steve retorted, pointing his fork at Sam. “This new American need to be just like someone.” 

Sam laughed. “We’ve been doing it since Captain America took down the Nazi’s. Get used to it.” 

Steve just shook his head, then read through the files while he finished the noodles. Bucky was out there. Still alive. Doing god knows what. But alive. 

“You figured out what you’re gonna do when you find him?” 

“Not a clue, Sam. I think I’ll just have to play it by ear.”

#

Soft chimes played to catch his attention. “Captain Rogers, do you have a moment?” 

Steve came back in from the balcony, looking up at the ceiling. Bruce had repeatedly said that it didn’t matter where he looked, Jarvis wasn’t really there. But he felt better looking up. “Yeah, Jarvis. They finished with that intel from the base?” 

“Miss Hill and Agent Romanoff are still working on that. I have a different matter I would like to speak to you about.” 

“Yeah, go ahead then.” Steve headed to the bar to pull a beer out. The pad thai made him want to burp.

“The research that you and Mr. Wilson have been doing, there seems to be some similarity with an incident that happened earlier today, regarding Sergeant James Barnes.” 

“One of Tony’s incidents?” Maybe Tony would be a good excuse to find his own place outside the tower.

“Not that I’m aware of. Mr. Stark has programmed me trace any internet searches that I uncover on certain Hydra files pertaining to Sergeant Barnes. Specifically, the files regarding the cybernetic arm and the cryogenics that Hydra used on him.”

Steve put the beer bottle down before he crushed it. Housekeeping complained about broken glass when he did that. “Okay Jarvis, you’ve got my attention.” 

“I was tracing one such request when I was shut out by either another AI as capable as myself or a very talented hacker. I was able to retreat and close up vulnerabilities before the trace went too deep. I do not know where they were located. But since this intrusion, the general internet information on those files have either been erased, changed, or corrupted. Someone is trying to rebury this information.”

“Does Tony know about this?” Something in his chest started to squeeze. It’d been almost eighty years since his last asthma attack. He knew that it was impossible to have one now. His breath still came in short choppy waves. 

“He does. But given your own search, it was logical that you would want to know as well.”

“Thank you Jarvis. Could you send me all the information you have on that?” 

“Certainly Sir.” His computer screen lit up as the information began to download. He turned back to his beer, drinking most of it in one long swallow.

Steve hoped that Hill and Natasha would come up with the next strike point soon. He had a severe need to punch many people repeated times right now.

Then he realized, either Bucky knew how to hack all this stuff on his own. Or someone was gathering up the information to use. 

Most likely on Bucky himself. If they knew were he was. If they already had him in their clutches.

Glass dug into his hand even as he realized beer was dripping across his bare toes. Housekeeping would be yelling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout outs to those who recognize the title reference. :)


	18. The Past always Haunts Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally earn part of my mature rating, for a bit of violence.

_Zola leaned into his face, flashing lights into his eyes. “I hope you have not regressed too far. It makes the reprogramming more difficult. The more you fight, the worse it is. You remember that much, I know.”_

_Faceless soldiers helped the techs force him into the chair. He was angry, he wanted to fight. But as always, his body was no longer his. Above him, the halo waited, gleaming in the harsh light._

_“I’m sorry, Buck. But you don’t belong here now.” Steve stood next to Zola, thumbs tucked into his belt as he stood, posing as if there were cameras. “We have to reset you. Bucky Barnes is dead. He has to stay dead. Forever.” Steve turned away to drop James’ notebooks into a fire._

_The restraints bit into his arm, pulling him tight to the chair. Hardison leaned in to guide the halo down into place around his head. “You busted up the machine pretty good, but don’t worry. I can fix anything.”_

_The machine hummed to life. Crackled across his skin._

_His brain felt like it was on fire. Lightning drove deep into him, right into the core of his being. All those memories he’d fought for, clung to, he could see them now, see them catch fire, could watch them slide up the thousands of bolts coursing through him to burn into wisps of smoke._

_Steve watched, patting Hardison on the shoulder. They smiled as the machine spit him back out. “Welcome back, Soldier. We have work to do.”_

#

 

He awoke, his gun comfortable in his hand. Steady, smooth. Familiar.

What was the mission?

He didn’t recognize anything about his surroundings. Sheets pooled around his ankles, torn in places. A bed beside him. A stuffed rabbit sat on the far side of it, staring at him. 

Someone was coming.

Heedless of the fact that he was nearly naked, he immediately went through the door on his right. Another room. Cleared floor, furniture pushed to the side. Two shadows. He put a bullet into each training dummy before he even registered what they were.

Crossed over to the outside wall. Windows overlooked an empty alleyway. Two story drop, not optimal but doable.

What was the mission?

“James! Stand down!” He didn’t recognize the voice. Didn’t recognize the name. Only three voices could give him orders. This one was outside his mission parameters. He did not have to obey the order. He put his back to the wall, gun aimed at the door. Ran through his options.

What was the mission?

“Stand down!”

A face appeared across the room. Angry. He aimed and fired in the same second.

“Sputnik!” the word boomed from everywhere. The room went black.

#

There was a voice, slow and methodical. “James Buchanan Barnes. James Grant.” The words replayed themselves. Twice. Three times. Clicked.

“What happened?” Something about a mission clung in his mind. _Finish the mission._

“I think you were having a nightmare. We tried to snap you out of it.” A warm hand was rubbing his shoulder. His bare skin.

James was sitting on the floor of Parker’s living room, the one they had let him convert to a work out room. The training dummies were on the floor, their stuffing scattered around them. Parker sat beside him.

“They brought back the Asset,” He murmured, trying to find the truth of the dream. He reached up to rub at his face. His wrists were tied together. So were his feet. “What did I do?”

“You shot Eliot.”


	19. It's Just a Flesh Wound

The look on James’ face told Parker all she needed. His eyes twisted and he shrunk in on himself, aging right in front of her. He never had much emotion in his face, but now he was wide open, breathing faster as he stared at her. Sophie had taught her to listen a person’s breathing. This was panic.

“Oh don’t worry, you only got his shoulder. He’s been shot before, lots of times. Hardison and I patched him up and put him to bed. Now Hardison’s researching your wake up word.” 

Relief flooded across his face, but he was still far too pale under the black stubble. “Wake up word?” 

“Well we knew your shut down word, just not the other.” She bit her lip. Normally, having someone’s permission didn’t mean much in her line of work. But this was different, and they hadn’t exactly asked him about it. “I’m sorry we used it before we could talk to you about it.”

But James shook his head against her unspoken apology. “No, it’s okay. The Asset was in control. You did what you had to.” He fell silent, leaning back against the wall and swallowing hard. He didn’t even fight the way she had his hands and feet tied. She couldn’t really read any tension in the left arm, but the jagged flesh along the edge seemed tense.

“Hey, look at me.” Parker lightly turned his chin so that his eyes met hers. “We knew the risks when we gave you the apartment. This was not you, this was Hydra.” She let go of his chin, catching his flesh hand to rub warmth into it. “I trust James Grant. I know you’ll help us with anything we need to help you fight the Asset.” 

He nodded, licking his lips again. She got up and went into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of water for him. Sat with him as he drank and collected his thoughts. “Oh, I can’t do this. Give me your hands.” A flick of a knife and the ropes were gone. “Not like those could hold you anyways.

“Parker, I couldn’t find it, and… oh.” Hardison pulled to a stop, just inside the door.

“It’s okay, it’s James.” Both of them stood up, but James still wouldn’t meet Hardison’s eyes. “I think he needs to see Eliot before he can start to forgive himself though.” 

She started for the door, trusting that James would follow her, but he wasn’t. She turned back, curious how he would react.

“I shouldn’t. I should leave. Hardison is right, it’s not safe for you.” He still stood against the wall, watching them both. Waiting. For someone to give him an order.

Parker set her jaw and marched back to him, grabbing his left hand and started dragging him forward. The metal was cool and smooth against her skin. He had all the strength in the world, but he followed in her wake, almost like a lost puppy. Wasn’t that how she treated him these days? 

Hardison stepped out of her way, the look on his face both incredulous and proud. He let her lead James all the way down the hall before going upstairs into the expanded apartment the three of them shared. Half-finished projects by all three of them were scattered around the main room, but she didn’t let him look. She could already hear Eliot fussing and trying to get one of them to talk to him. 

Their bedroom was actually the combination of two rooms, one of them dominated by the massive bed in the center. On his usual left side, Eliot was picking at the bandages around his shoulder. “Stop that,” Parker said automatically. “Or I’ll glue it in place.” 

She turned and forced James ahead of her, pushing him until he stood next to Eliot’s side of the bed. “See? He’s okay. Just bitchier.”

“Parker, I swear I’m going to cut every rope out of the rafters once I can get back up there!” Eliot was steamed, but they both needed this. Parker knew her lover didn’t carry grudges, not like she and Hardison did. But he still needed to look James in the face again. 

Behind her, Hardison slipped his hand into hers, squeezing. He still trusted her. She couldn’t do half the things she did these days if he didn’t. 

James was mumbling. “I’m sorry. The Asset was in control then.”

“I know. I should have used the other word. I will next time.” Eliot’s tone had changed, and he offered up his good hand to James. 

After a moment, he took it. “How bad is it?”

“I was ducking, you mostly just got flesh and skin.” James sat down next to Eliot, looking closer, almost clinical.

“I hardly ever miss.” Approval was in his tone, and a little respect.

“I’ve had a lot of practice over the years.” 

“He wants to leave, Eliot. He says it’s not safe,” Parker interjected.

James shot to his feet again, taking a couple steps back. “I should.”

Eliot gave them both a hard look. “No. We can figure this out. A break would be good though. This is the longest you’ve been in one spot, right?”

James nodded warily. “Okay, so tomorrow, when I can untie my feet from whatever the fuck Parker did to them, we’re gonna go up to my place, outside of town. And Parker?”

She looked back at him smugly. He hadn’t figured out her knots yet.

“You’re bringing in Sophie.”


	20. Responsibilities

James didn’t know if he should be upset, or relieved. He’d been getting used to people again. Slowly. After this trio of… okay, he didn’t know what to call them, still. But after they had given him his own apartment, they had started to integrate him into the pub. He’d eat at least one meal a day there, in the open dining area. One of the group was always with him, for his comfort. Amy had adopted him, somewhat. Made sure his favorites were always available.

Parker took him rappelling off a 50 story skyscraper. Eliot had to coax him down when he froze on the 36th floor.

Hardison taught him how to use the internet. Parker made him log off and go for a run every six hours.

Eliot taught him food. What was safe to eat. Let him explore. Hardison gave him gummy frogs by the bag full. 

And at no time, did they make him feel uncomfortable when he stood up and walked away from them. They didn’t take it personally. “Overload” was a free pass to use whenever things got to be too much.

Eliot had asked him that first day, just don’t implode the building. 

He’d torn the back door off the kitchen. He’d punched holes in some of the walls without realizing. He’d spent hours in the shower after dreams of the cryo chamber, until all the hot water in the building was gone. He was an oblivious menace sometimes. He knew it. They knew it.

Somehow, they didn’t care. Just dealt with each minor disaster as it happened, and kept on with their work.

And now he’d shot Eliot. They had let James keep his guns, and they paid for it. At least it had been the Glock, not the Skorpion. He didn’t have any more ammo for it, but he still felt better to have it nearby. The last of the clip had been used in the bank. He had thought about asking where to get some rounds for it, then this had happened.

But instead of turning him into the police or Shield, Parker had packed up a few things and put him into the passenger seat of an old beat up Ford truck. Eliot drove, despite his left shoulder being wrapped up tight. Taking James out somewhere past the city, to give him a breather. 

They drove in silence. Eliot had to pay attention driving with just one hand. And James just didn’t know what to say. He just listened to whatever played on the radio. A song about fast cars, fast enough to get out of there, caught his attention. Most of it he didn’t understand, but leaving? He understood that. He’d been running since DC.

“Listen, I should have said something, before we left. My place out here, it’s liable to bring back other kinds of memories for you,” Eliot said, after turning onto a two lane road winding back into the hills. “I read up on a lot of stuff, World War Two stuff. Parts of Oregon, with the weather and the hills, it looks a lot like France. I know you spent some time there, in 43.” 

Had he? That was before a lot of things. “It’s blurry. I don’t know.” 

Eliot nodded. Let him think it over. After a few miles, he said, “I just wanted you to know, since you don’t seem to know what triggers the memories. Maybe being prepared will help you control them.” 

James bit his lip, nodded again. “It’s starting to slow down, the sudden jolts. Just… mostly the nightmares.” He fell silent. Looked away from Eliot, out the window on his side. Misty fog still clung to the trees and lower folds. Somehow, he knew it’d be annoyingly damp. 

“This is the third big one, yeah? Well, the third that I know of. You’re pretty quiet when you want to be.” A long pause, then Eliot shifted a bit in his seat. “I had a lot of nightmares too, after my second tour. Still sneak up on me, even now.” 

James turned back to look at Eliot. His shoulders were tense, but that was because of the wound. Otherwise he was relaxed, scanning the terrain. “Tours?”

“I did time in the Army.” He shrugged. “Then I went solo for a while. Got hooked up with a bad crew, then went solo again. Didn’t start to go right until I met up with these guys.” Eliot looked over at him, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I don’t talk about it much.” 

James nodded again. Thinking. Felt he should say something. “Thank you.” 

“It’s what we do, now. Fixing things people need, in ways most people don’t have access to.” 

He wondered what that felt like. Good, from the way Eliot seemed to think. They’d helped him so much already.

Even when he shot them. The truck shifted. Had he said that out loud?

“Hey, James. Stop. I’m serious.” Eliot slowed down, pulling over onto the narrow shoulder. Turned to look at him. Waited until James could look back.

“I’ve seen you work, before. Back, in the day. I know what you’re capable of. And I told you, I know what nightmares can do to you.” Eliot ran his good hand through his hair, pushing it back. James realized it was nearly the same length of his own. 

“If you need to hear it out loud, then fine. I don’t care that you shot me. I’ve been shot before. It’s my job, so I can protect Hardison and Parker.”

Oh, okay. So this is why they were taking him out of the brew pub. They wanted him in a safer location. He had wanted to leave, but they were right. Someone still had to help make sure he didn’t fall back to the Asset full time.

Eliot was still waiting for him to say something. “Okay. I understand.” 

They watched each other for a moment, then James nodded. There was a permanent frown crease in Eliot’s brow. James was starting to squirm when Eliot nodded. Turned to drive away from the spot. 

Ten miles later, Eliot asked, “Do you think you ever went fly fishing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kane fans might beat me over the head by being so Meta-licious about the song I picked. Don't care. Love his cover of it. And I love the live versions best. (and not just because he's wearing The Henley) https://youtu.be/9sPnw8ht5VU


	21. Radio Songs

Eliot’s place in the hills was one he’d designed himself. Hardison hated coming up here because there was no cell reception and no internet. The longest he could keep the hacker up here was over night. Parker though, she loved it. 

But it was Eliot’s baby, a long rambling ranch style house on the outside, but inside it was open space, except for a couple bedrooms. Out back, he’d put in a fire pit and a round deck overlooking the hills. Below the deck, not high enough to see if you were sitting down, a whole obstacle course he used to keep in shape. He figured he’d be able to run James through it a couple times before he had to come up with something more interesting. 

Right now, the man stood on the back deck, leaning against the railing, just staring out into the fog. Sometimes when he got that, Eliot wasn’t sure if he was thinking, remembering, or just going to that meditative radio silence space. He’d had moments like that. 

He stepped outside, bare feet slapping loudly against the wood. “Hey man, could you come help me with this? I need to change up the bandage.” 

There, he could see the guilt in James. The cringe of his shoulders, the ducking of his head, eyes dropped to the floor. Eliot was still trying to figure out if this is how James was learning to process guilt, or if this was something Hydra had beaten into him. There had never been anything remotely like a whipped puppy in the wartime Barnes, and Eliot felt he should know. He had researched him hard enough. 

James shuffled in behind him, still not quite meeting Eliot’s eyes. “Hardison tends to overwrap. Go ahead and cut all this off for me, so I can get a real look at it.” He held out the scissors to the other man, waiting. James stared at the scissors, the fingers on his right hand flexing. “Okay, this is gonna get old real fast. So here.” Eliot pulled up the flesh hand and slapped the scissors into them, then caught the metal hand and pressed it against the bullet wound. It hurt, but he’d had worse over the years. “See? It’s good. I’m okay.”

“Why?” Now James was looking at him. This close, Eliot could see the spidery lines along the corners of his eyes, ghosts of wrinkles that would appear soon. The question had too many answers, but Eliot tackled them as best as he could.

“Why am I okay? I told you, I’ve been shot before. See?” Eliot didn’t have his shirt on, so there were at least three other scars visible. “Why do I trust you? Because you feel guilty about this. It shows that you still have a conscience. You still know what’s right, what’s wrong. You just have the proportions mixed up.” He let that sink in. Slowly, the fingers curled around the scissors and came up to start cutting the gauze away. “If you were the Soldier, the Asset as you call him, he wouldn’t care.” 

The hands on his shoulder were still hesitant, gentle. The memory of the first time Parker had to dress one of his wounds flickered through his mind. James’ hands were just as soft. But the gauze was coming off. Wasteful, really, how overboard Hardison went. 

“It’s not that I’m confused if I’m him, or if I’m me. It’s just...” He fell silent, searching. “I don’t know when he takes control.” The words were as slow as the fingers on his shoulder. Cautious. 

“That’s why I thought maybe coming up here would be best for you. Only you and me, so you can face off with him without worrying about others.” The last of the gauze came off and the pad slowly peeled off. Eliot handed him the cloth and saline solution. “Rinse it out too.” He watched, realizing almost instantly that whoever this man was, he hadn’t dressed any wounds anytime the past seven or eight decades. “Okay, okay, slow stream there” 

Once it was washed out, Eliot looked it over, grumbling a little as he poked at it. James took a step back at that, looking away. “No, hey, we’re not done with that conversation. Hand me that spray.” He kept James close, kept him involved, and once he saw the reaction, kept touching the metal arm. 

“Does it bother you, when we look at it?” Eliot asked as they finished. 

James flinched, dropping his hands and busied himself with cleaning up. “Only people who did anything with me were the techs who maintained it.” He flexed the arm, and Eliot could actually see the plates shift. 

“But you let Parker close. Let her drag you by the hand last night, even.” 

James laughed softly, the first genuine emotion he’d seen this morning other than guilt. “Parker wouldn’t hurt me.” Eliot laughed too. He’d correct that mistake later down the road.

“No. None of us will. I’d like you to meet Sophie though. She’s the best con artist in the world. If she can’t figure out some of your memory issues, then she might know someone who can.” Eliot flexed his arm, testing the bandage. A little loose, but workable.

“You trust this Sophie?” James was watching him again, but standing a little straighter. His shoulders were squared, and his chin lifted. 

“With my life. And I have before. All three of us have.” Once the kinks had been worked out, anyways. 

“There are other triggers, other than… the shut down word. Are those things you think she can erase?” Now he saw a little hope shine through the haze. 

Eliot nodded. “There are things that woman can do that defies explanation. And I watched her do a lot of it.” Enough deep talk. He’d learned to keep it in short bursts over the past week. He grabbed a loose shirt and eased it on, then found his boots. “C’mon, wanna show you around down the valley. I think you might love this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this thing decided it had to be long, so I'm breaking it up into three parts. I finished writing the last chapter of Part 1 last night. Just gotta beta everything. 
> 
> Thank you all who've kept reading through the first 21 chapters! Your comments give me so many smiles and giggles. I think that's why it kept growing, actually! Totally blaming you. *nod*


	22. Real, or Not Real?

“Real or not real. Americans landed on the moon.” James lay on his back, staring at more stars than he could remember. Maybe ever. New York was still really fuzzy. A six pack of beer and a bottle of really old English whiskey waited beside him, courtesy of Eliot.

“Real. I even have a moon rock.” Eliot sat on the other side of the fire pit, nursing his second beer slowly. “Real or not real. You took out a heavily secured target with a thousand yard shot in Sarajevo.” 

They’d been playing this game for a while. Eliot called it a recall exercise, and some of the questions he asked were difficult. Sometimes he didn’t have answers, even after thinking about some of the questions. But what really made him relax is that Eliot didn’t react badly to what the Asset had done. At least not like Parker would have. There was a touch of professional appreciation, even. James appreciated that. “I remember several Sarajevo. What year?”

“1989. During the collapse of communism.” 

“Communism fell? Another thing they didn’t tell me.” James thought for a long moment, then took another sip of the whiskey. “Real. No wind, some fog, clear shot. They had me wait two days for the mission target to get into place.” He smiled, remembering. “Too much sun the first day. I liked that part.” 

He remembered being drunk. He remembered the bar where he said he’d follow Steve back into battle. Even then, it was getting hard for alcohol to affect him, but the Brit running the bar ran some really good stuff. “Real or not real. Did we win the war?”

“World War II? Yeah, they have us down as winning. Took a couple decades for Europe to recover though.” But Hydra hadn’t been killed. Steve had failed then. Even the history books got that wrong.

“Real or not real. Viet Nam. 1969. You took out an entire Viet Cong outpost with just a knife and a handful of darts.”

James cracked up. “Not real! There were only six experimental subjects there.” 

“Experimental?” Eliot had shifted, watching him closer. 

“They were working with the serum Zola had developed.” He stopped, taking his time. Eliot let him. Minutes dragged on, then he remembered another detail. “It didn’t work right. The scientist in charge had tried to improve on it. They sent me in to put them down before they got loose.” He took another long drink after that. The liquor buzzed pleasantly through him. He could almost feel it. It definitely made it easier to talk, to open up. Maybe he was drunk enough to finally ask. “Real or not real. You, Parker, and Hardison sleep together.” 

James wasn’t watching, but he thought Eliot smiled. “Real. I love them both. ‘Til my dying day.” He heard Steve again, in his memory. _‘til the end of the line._ A pause by Eliot. Then gentle words. “Does that bother you?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I haven’t figured out the whole right or wrong of this century.” People were a lot more open with things these days. Homosexuality. Polyamory. Once he realized what relationship his hosts really had, he’d looked it up too. “It seems more relaxed, more open.” 

“It is. I mean, we don’t advertise, but we also don’t hide it.” He heard the rustle of Eliot’s shirt as he shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Mmm.” With everything else in his head, James had decided to avoid the whole sex thing. The Asset spent sixty years frozen and untouched. And now, it just felt normal not to want anything. His body hadn’t been interested yet. Vague memories from New York suggested that once he had been, a lot. He still couldn’t put a name to any of them, except for Steve.

A long silence stretched out. Somewhere in the trees, he could hear bats flying, maybe an owl. He liked the silence out here. He hadn’t really realized how loud the city could be. Maybe he should have stayed in his auditorium. 

“Real or not real. You’re afraid of Steve Rogers.” 

He fidgeted. Sat up and swung his feet around. Knocked over an empty can. Shifted on his seat. His tongue felt on fire, burning the words to ashes as soon as he thought of them. He opened his mouth to say something. Closed it with a snap. His molars ached for a moment. 

“I’m sorry. Forget it. Consider that one a pass.” Eliot gave him a soft smile across the fire pit. James forgave him instantly. It was still a sore subject but so far, they had honored his wishes not to contact Steve. 

“Real,” he replied, surprised the word survived the flames. “I don’t know what he wants. Shield wants to lock me up. So do a lot of other people. I’ve seen that in the papers. In the news. I won’t go back in.” He stood up to pace along the deck, needing movement. The adrenalin started to burn out any effect from the alcohol, clearing up his mind.

“That’s what Shield wants. But I don’t think that’s what Rogers wants.” Eliot watched him, staying calm. James appreciated that too. It was hard to rattle Eliot.

“Steve never really gets what he wants, not even what he thinks he wants.” Where did that thought come from?

“He’s searching for you, though. We’ve covered your tracks, kept your profile low. But the word is, he thinks either Hydra or some other rogue outfit has you.” 

James turned on Eliot, flexing both hands. Wanting a gun. Knowing it was a very bad idea. “Do you?” 

“Have you? Hell no. You know where the keys are to the truck, how to leave here. I know for a fact that you can navigate out of here on foot if you thought it was necessary. I’m just letting you know what’s being said.” 

He was right. Even as distracted as he had been, he’d memorized every sign and every turn on the way here. He forced himself back to his bench. Forced himself to move the beer cans out of the way. “Okay, fair enough. I won’t go back.” Can’t go back. _Finish the mission._ No. 

His breath was coming faster. He tried to slow down. Tried to give himself orders. _There is no Handler. I decide now._ Control your grip. Don’t destroy the bench. Eliot had carved on it. The mental command was working, somewhat. The wood still creaked in protest.

“We could send him an anonymous message, letting him know you’re okay. Might keep him from storming into Portland some day with the Avengers at his back.” 

James hadn’t thought about that. Would Steve go that far to bring him in? “Do you think it would work?” He really didn’t want to bring that down on their heads. 

“Maybe. We could send him a little video of you, if you want. Think about it, decide later. Tonight.. I think I have enough beer in me now to sleep.” 

James nodded to Eliot as the other man passed him. Endured a pat on his metal shoulder in a show of camaraderie. His shoulder. His arm. Not it. After a bit, the lights went out except in the kitchen. James sat and watched the flames of the fire burn lower. The cold began to creep in, but this was a different kind of cold. Wet and thick, wrapping around him to soak, not freeze. The cryo chamber had been dry, made his skin crackle along the edge where it wrapped around metal. 

He was still sitting there the next morning, in the same position, when the sun began to rise. He still couldn’t think of a good answer.


	23. War Councils and Copy Cats

“Perhaps it would be best if you started from the top. What are we really dealing with here?” Sophie sat at the table, almost as if she had never left. She sipped at a cup of tea, eyes hardest on Hardison. 

“What it boils down to, really,” he started. “Is total and absolute mind control, to the point that they were able to suppress his real personality by repeated procedures to “wipe” his memory clean between missions. He’s fragmented, badly.” 

“But not as bad as when we found him,” Parker said. She was sitting next to Nate, playing with her favorite tumbler again to keep her fingers busy. Before the meeting, they’d agreed, she’d play good guy and he’d play bad guy when they did the presentation. “He’s really come around the past week or so. Eliot says he’s even remembering flashes of his missions.” 

“Are you sure that’s wise? I mean, if he’s remembering what he did, that’s going to be extremely overwhelming,” Sophie replied. She was using the voice Hardison always identified with her cold feet, stay out of it, tone. 

“We’ve been taking it in small doses. I might be the best one for him to talk that out with, since... Well, you know.” Eliot had joined in by phone for this conference. Somewhere in the background, someone was firing a semi-automatic gun. “Target practice,” Eliot had said simply.

“Yeah, okay. Do you even know how much of this past is real and what might be freezer dreams?” Nate asked. He had his blank face on, the one that always made Hardison feel like he had to come up with something brilliant to impress Nate.

“We’ve been able to cross reference most of it, yeah,” Hardison said. He couldn’t stop the shiver that went up his back. “They kept him busy. So far, twenty eight confirmed kills. He’s remembered around a dozen of them, so far.” A flick of the screen, several different lists separated on them. A time-line he’d put together on one side. Down the middle, a list of people he’d been able to confirm that had worked on the Winter Soldier program, and their known status. On the other side, the twenty eight kills. On the far side of the room, the Where-In-The-World-Is-Steven-Rogers computer chuckled along, a couple updates popping through. 

“Here’s the thing, I don’t think he was the only one. Just the oldest.” He queued up a screen from Russia, dated just a few weeks ago. A man with long hair, silver sleeve, full face mask, but a much smaller build strode through the street, firing repeatedly at an SUV trying desperately to get away. It was eerily reminiscent of what happened in DC. “The Avengers have been tracking them down though. Most of their targets are Shield, or were. Someone out there is trying to make it look like he’s still in business. And the files I’ve recovered so far show there were a dozen others put into the program. Doesn’t say how many were successful beyond James.”

“He says he doesn’t know about any of the others,” Eliot spoke up through the link. “But he swears he’s not done anything like that since DC. I don’t think he knows how to lie yet.” A pause. “And I don’t think this is something he’d think to lie about either. He’s still dealing with the guilt of shooting me.” 

“Yeah, about that, I don’t like that at all,” Sophie said, leaning in towards the speaker. “And you let him keep his guns?” 

“Of course I did. He doesn’t feel safe without them. It’d be stupid to stress him out more.” 

Sophie leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. That was not a good sign. Hardison changed the screen, playing the video he’d recorded of Eliot and James cooking and talking. Laughing. 

“That was last week. When he’s in control, he’s cool.” Parker was giving him the Look. He was lousy at playing bad guy. “He woke up out of a nightmare.”

“And I spooked him. I know what to do next time.” 

“Exactly, there will _be_ a next time.” Sophie turned to swat at Nate. “And why aren’t you worried about this?”

“Me? Oh I’m worried. Actually, I’m scared shitless. This is not the kind of thing we ever did. We stayed away from this level of espionage.” 

“There, thank you!” Sophie stood up, still with her arms around herself. “This is not safe for any of you, and you want me to step in?” 

Parker turned to look at Sophie, face drawn and jaw set. “He needs our help. We help people. He needs help finding and removing post hypnotic triggers. We can’t do that. You can.” 

Sophie actually took a step back. Hardison blinked and looked at Parker with a touch more respect. 

“I’m with Parker,” Eliot said. “Even if we have to do this alone, we’re going to see this through.” 

“Why?” Nate asked, cocking his head at Parker. Hardison had a hard time reading him when he demanded to be convinced, and that’s what this moment was.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And I don’t think anyone has the right set of skills to help him like we do.” Parker’s jaw was set as she glared into Nate. But their old boss didn’t give.

“Okay. So Eliot, I can see, they’re war buddies. Hardison, I can see, because no one can find things and also hide them like Alec can. What’s your angle?” 

Parker laughed. All of them were surprised at that, but she just smiled. “I’m the one he trusts. I’m his modern day Peggy Carter.” 

Nate smiled back, nodding. He caught Sophie and pulled her close. “Okay, so what you need, really, are psychiatrists. I think we can handle that. Besides,” he smiled at Sophie, rubbing her back. “You really loved that little B&B up there. We could set up a second base there as a relay.” 

Parker stepped in and started to make plans with Nate, arguing with him the entire time. Sophie listened, and argued. None of them realized when Hardison took Eliot off the speaker. 

“So you guys really good up there?” He asked softly. On his earpiece, he could hear the gunshots in the background clearer.

“Yeah. We’re good. Made him change the bandage for me this morning again. It’s healing just fine, before you ask.” 

Hardison chuckled, leaning back against the wall, watching the three brains battle it out. “They’re in, once Parker puts up boundaries.” He looked at the Rogers screen. “Tell James that the Avengers, including Cap, are in the Ukraine. Don’t tell him that they’re chasing another one of his clones.” 

“Fuck. How many is that now?”

“Three. Out of a possible twelve. You guys keep your eyes open up there, okay?” 

“Yeah, we will. And hey, next time you’re up, I’m okay with that surveillance system you kept going on about.”

“Oh Eliot, I knew you loved me. You don’t have to butter me up no more.” He grinned, couldn’t help it. 

“Yeah, just keep giving me ideas about butter. You know Parker hates food in bed.” A knowing chuckle, then the line disconnected. Leaving Hardison with the intention on talking Parker into whatever ideas Eliot just had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sophie! I really need to find a way to write more for her.


	24. Letters from the Other Side

When his computer dinged with a new email, Steve actually didn’t want to get up to check it. He’d gotten comfortable hours ago, the TV rambling quietly in it’s corner. A bottle of Thor’s special blend sat by the couch, half empty. It still didn’t give him much more than a light buzz.  
A soft chime sounded. At his request, Jarvis had started using that as his version of a knock. “Yeah Jarvis, what is it?”   
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain Rogers, but the email you just received has me concerned. It did not originate through my mail servers. It bypassed me completely.”   
Steve was off the couch and into the chair within a second, bringing up the mail program. “It says it’s from Sam, about our search.” Trusting Jarvis to manage any security issues, he opened the email.

_My apologies to Jarvis, but this is an untraceable email. I am sending this on the behalf of a mutual friend. We’ve been watching the news too. These new Soldiers that keep appearing are not the one that you’re searching for._

Steve’s shoulders sagged in relief. He knew they weren’t. But every time he hoped, right up until they turned on them. On _him._ The pure hate in each of their faces stabbed him in the gut. It tore him up to see each one taken down. There had been only three, but none of them gave up, or quit trying to kill him first before they could be stopped. It felt like seeing Bucky die in front of him again. He still couldn’t save him. And now it was his own friends doing the killing.  
He took another long drink out of his bottle.

_I’m attaching files for Jarvis and Stark to look over, all my research into the Winter Soldier program. It’s nasty, and it needs to be completely destroyed. That’s a job for the Avengers, not us._

“Jarvis?” Steve asked simply. “Those files, are they for real?”  
“Yes sir. These are the uncorrupted versions, and with far more information than I have been able to collect, myself.” OK, so whoever this anonymous person was, maybe they were legit.   
More text began to scroll. How did they do that?

_I want to make you an offer. I’ll keep you up to date with everything that I find, if you stop searching for Barnes. This is his request. And before you get angry, let me explain to you why he’s asking this._

A long wall of text began. Steve had to read through it twice. He had thought the file Natasha gave him from Russia had been pretty thorough. Now he realized it was really just a summarized overview. His chest was tight again as he tried to breath. Bucky didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want him to search for him. But what he read was horrific. If this was true, he was far more hurt by Hydra than Steve had let himself think about.  
More text.

_I have also gotten him to agree with something. I know you don’t want to stop searching. I understand why. You need to know that he’s okay, that he’s safe. So each time I send you something, I’ll attach something of him so you can see for yourself._

A video began to play. Bucky, or the person who used to be Bucky, standing beside a sink. He seemed to be cleaning fish. Someone off camera spoke, and Bucky smiled. He smiled. Nodded, replied to whatever the question was. He was relaxed, at ease in his skin. The metal hand flashed in the light, slicing through the belly of the fish in front of him.  
The video ended after thirty seconds, then started to replay. Jarvis didn’t say a word, but a small message popped up on his screen to confirm that the video was saved to his hard drive.  
Eventually, he leaned forward to type out a reply. 

_Tell Bucky I agree to his terms. Tell him I want him safe, more than anything else. Send me anything Hydra, anything you want. Thank you._

He leaned back in his chair, the video paused at the moment when Bucky had smiled. “Jarvis?”  
“Yes, Captain Rogers?”   
“When Tony asks where we got all this information, let me tell him that I’ve been cultivating this hacker on my own. I don’t want him trying to do whatever it is he does, rather, have you plow through the internet to find these people. This is for Bucky’s safety. Do you understand me?”  
“Yes, Sir. I take it you do not wish me to try and back trace? Nothing is completely untraceable.”   
“No, not yet. I’m good. Thank you Jarvis.”   
“You’re welcome.” The speakers went silent.   
It occurred to Steve a little later, that his cheeks had been wet from the moment the email had mentioned Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Format changes on this chapter, yes. Just cause it was already broken up enough, I thought.


	25. Distractions

“So yeah, that’s pretty much everything. I’ve set up an info dump for him to follow up with, and he’s called his friend Sam off the hunt. He’s still being very vocal in the news that all these Soldiers popping up are not you, so he’s got your back.” Hardison paused to take a deep breath. Eliot shoved half a pancake into his mouth. James laughed. The laugh felt good too

“It’s not the only way to make him shut up, but trust me, you don’t want to see the other way,” Eliot growled, eating the other half of the pancake.

“That’s just rude, Eliot.” 

The two of them continued to bicker, that was normal. But what was different this time were the small touches and the occasional random kiss. Hardison had come up that morning, to give them the full update himself.

“He really was okay with… with everything I asked?” He felt hesitant. The memories he had of Steve were about stubbornness more than any other trait. He played with his own food, swirling the pancakes around in a wide sea of syrup. He was developing a very large sweet tooth. 

Hardison took his time answering. “Okay with it? Not really. More like, willing to accept these limitations for right now. I think the video convinced him.” 

James nodded, took the bite he was playing with, letting the bite calm him before he looked up. “Can I see it? The video?” 

Hardison nodded, played with his phone for a second, then pushed it over. Eliot had taken it a couple days before, talking him through remembering how to clean fish. 

“Still so weird to see myself in video. I was never supposed to be seen unless my Handler ordered it.” He kept his eyes down to avoid the look the other two men exchanged. The video replayed, then he realized why they picked it. The smile actually felt familiar. He tried it again, testing how it made his face feel. He shook his head as he pushed the phone back. There was a memory there, but it didn’t want to be chased yet. “So, your friend Sophie, she’s here, yeah?” 

“Uh-huh. Dropped her and Nate off at the B&B in town. We didn’t want to overwhelm you yet. We’re supposed to meet them for lunch.” 

“And Parker?” He smiled. He missed her oddball sense of reality. It was very effective for him to balance what was real and what was in his head.

“She’s still up in Portland. She had a few more things to do, researching our next job. She’ll be up tonight.” Hardison was looking at Eliot again. One of those looks. He wanted to look to his right, expected Steve to be there with his own look.

“I…” James swallowed. It was hard to ask for things sometimes. Especially important things. He forced himself to look up. “I want her to be here when they do this thing. I want her to be able to shut me down and wake me up again if she has to.” He started to push the plate away and stand up. Caught himself. Stood up and took the plate to the sink. Then he walked out onto the deck so they could have their conversation. He was doing better. Full sentences. Remembering to take an empty plate to the sink. This was progress. 

He couldn’t remember a time when he was this nervous. He didn’t know if that was because he never had been this nervous, or if it was because those memories hadn’t surfaced yet. It was unsettling. 

#

Eliot had taken him to the small coastal town called Apple Springs before, to pick up groceries and look around. There was a tiny little bakery who had apple pies that he’d become addicted to from the very first bite. It wasn’t his mother’s, somehow he knew that. But the woman in the store reminded him in subtle ways. A look. Flour smudges on her apron. The smell of the whole shop. He was closer to that particular door in his mind cracking open, he knew it. 

While the other two men went to find Sophie, he sat at a picnic table, slowly eating one of the mini pies she sold. This was one unintended benefit of having a metal arm. Those fingers didn’t get burnt as he nibbled on his sweet. 

He was getting better. He was sitting in the open, facing the road. His back to an empty field. Eating a pie with his gun still holstered. Two months ago, he didn’t think he would have thought about taking the chance of sitting like this, much less being able to do it. What had Parker called it? Baby steps. 

Sitting patient wasn’t something he was good at yet. He fidgeted. Looked around once the pie was gone. Across the street, a garage had a couple motorbikes out front for sale. His feet were moving before he realized it. 

“Those are good bikes. Refurbished them myself.” A man came out from the garage. James congratulated himself for only flinching before he turned to look at him. The man was older, in his sixties but still in shape. 

“I was curious about them.” He looked back over at the bench. “Waiting for a friend.” 

“Well, if your friend likes bikes, why not a matched set? Go on, sit on one. This one’s good for your height.” He did as the old man suggested, realized that this was a familiar feel. The controls were different, but the feel of the handlebars in his hands and the mass of the metal between his legs were comforting. 

“How much do you want for them?” he found himself asking. 

The man was staring at his silver fingers, but James didn’t feel the need to jerk his hand back yet. “I’d take six for both of them together. They really are a matched set, you know.” 

James nodded, taking a closer look at the bike. He couldn’t see any rust spots anywhere. In fact, the chrome was almost as shiny as his own arm. “Let me talk to my friend, make sure I can get that much cash together.” He mustered up as big of a smile as he could at the man. 

“Cool. I’ll give you a day or so, if you’re really interested.” The man wasn’t staring at his hand anymore, but smiling at him.

“Thanks, I am.” He eased off the bike and took a step back.

The tiniest wail ran up his legs. He looked down and shifted, looking at his feet. It was a handful of orange fluff. Instinct led him to reach down with his flesh hand. Tiny little claws caught in his flesh as the little warrior wailed at him again.

“Aw man, sorry about that. My daughter’s cat won’t keep the kittens in the yard.” 

“No, it’s okay.” Eliot was going to kill him. “Is she for sale too?”


	26. Misgivings

It really was a charming little town. Sophie had loved it ever since they ran a big box company out of it and kept it from dying. The little Bed and Breakfast even put on a full English breakfast, but that wasn’t enough to distract her from why she was here. 

The Winter Soldier. He was the bogey man that kept a lot of grifters like herself from going after certain marks. Even if they did deserve it. Just the thought of what she had to do next soured the perfectly lovely tea in front of her. She made a face at Nate, who just made it worse by laughing softly.

They’d spent the night watching the videos and reading the files that Hardison had put together for her. The psychological abuse the poor man had gone through had shocked her deeply. Despite who he was, she didn’t blame him for wanting to undo a lot of that. No one asked if she could. They all remembered what happened the last time they tried the White Rabbit con. 

Hardison and Eliot let themselves in to the dining room, coming to sit at the same table as them. She got up to kiss each of their cheeks, then looked Eliot over closely. He always looked good, but he moved easy, no tension in him. “I’m okay Sophie, really.” 

“All right, all right. I still worry.” She sat back down, then looked behind him. “So, where is he?”

“Treating himself to an apple pie and a moment alone before facing you,” Eliot said. “You make him nervous. He wants to wait until Parker’s here before you do anything.” 

“Parker? Really?” Nate was amused at that. Still.

“Like she said, she’s the one he really trusts. Although Eliot seems a close second. My skills, well, I have a feeling I remind him of the techs too much.” Hardison took a scone from the plate and a cup of tea without asking. 

“You really trust him on his own?” Sophie asked, not willing to let go of all her misgivings just yet.

“Absolutely. That’s why he trusts us. We don’t tell him what to do.” Eliot leaned in, whispering to her. “He’s not had his own choices since he fell from that train. Seventy years, Sophie. He knows he needs help but if we start making his decisions, that’s when he becomes dangerous.” 

She held up her hands, trying to placate. “All right, all right. I understand. And I’ll take it slow too, I promise.” 

“Well, let’s not keep the man waiting then.” Nate stood up, ignoring Hardison’s wounded look as he chewed on his second scone. Honestly, the man was a bit of a sadist. And she liked that, if she admitted it to herself. 

Their hostess was watching the TV as they walked out. Captain America stood in front of a group of reporters, the news ticker going across the screen repeating the same thing he’d said all week. “The man known as the Winter Soldier is not behind these attacks. This is all I can tell you, but I know for a fact that these decoys, these impersonations, have been trying to cause havoc and create fear.”

A reporter yelled, “How can you know he’s not behind this? He tried to kill you!”

“I’m not at liberty to say. But he also saved my life. Besides, these impersonators are far more dangerous. They mean to stir up more unre-” The press conference was cut off as the door closed. 

#

Just down the street, a small park sat on the corner across from the bakery. A single man sat at a park bench, looking at something in front of him. He wore one of Eliot’s jackets, but it was tight across the shoulders. His hair was as long as Eliot’s too, but darker. At a glance they could be mistaken for each other, then she caught a flicker of sunlight off the silver hand. As they got closer, she even heard a soft laugh from him.

“Where are you going? You’re just a little bit, just a smidgen. You’ll hardly get anywhere yet.” The words were spoken in Russian, but with soft amusement. An orange head popped up over his forearm. A kitten. And it was climbing up his shoulder without a care in the world.

“Okay, so yeah, this is doable,” she murmured. She’d just follow the kitten’s lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode referenced was the Low Low Price Job.


	27. Bits and Bobs

Eliot scuffed his boots on the pavement as they came closer to the picnic table. The little bit of orange fluff crawling on James’ shoulder was new, but to be honest, it was adorable. James looked up at them, smiling sheepishly at Eliot, until he looked past him. His face went blank when he saw Sophie and Nate, but his eyes never stopped moving. Eliot sat down beside him, while Hardison sat down across from Eliot, cooing at the cat.

“James, this is Sophie Devereaux. Behind her, that’s her husband Nate Ford. And who is this?” Eliot smiled, reaching over to scratch at the kitten with a finger.

“I don’t know her name. I found her over there,” he pointed across the street to the gas station. “I was looking at the bikes for sale.” James turned to Hardison, biting his lip. “The bank account you said you had for me, I might need it already.” 

Eliot looked back over at the bikes. Both late 80’s model Harley Davidsons. He knew the mechanic there, so they’d run as advertised. James had a good eye for machines. 

Sophie sat down by Hardison, obviously charmed by the kitten too. She held back though, letting Hardison answer the question.

“Oh yeah. What you liberated from those Hydra vaults would set you up for life, if that’s what you wanted.” Hardison dug into his jacket, pulling out an envelope. “I just finished these last night. Passport, driver’s license, gun license, health records, military records, credit cards and bank account, all in the name of James Grant.” 

James was trembling a little bit as he took the envelope and opened it up to look. “Thank you. Really. I had no idea if that stuff I found was any good.” 

“When you’re ready for me to explain the stock market, you’ll understand then.” Hardison’s attention was on the kitten, teasing her with a bit of cord from his pocket.

James focused back on Sophie. The tremors in the bench they shared became that much stronger. Eliot tried to be subtle as he pressed his elbow to James’. It also didn’t hurt that he was sitting on his right, letting the kitten have full control of the left. 

“You’re the grifter. You manipulate people.” His words were simple, but Eliot could feel how much control he put into choosing them.

“I am. Although I just want you to understand, you’re not a mark. So everything I do, I’ll explain why, and how it works. It will take a lot of patience on your part.” She reached out, lightly touching his hand to reinforce the patience message.

James laughed, a harsh croak this time. “All I’ve got are bits and pieces of who I was. Even if it only helps a little, it will be more than I had before. I can be patient for that.” 

Even Eliot could feel Sophie begin to relax. 

“Even if I’m able to help you do everything you hope I can, you may not be the same person. Are you ready for that?” 

James shook his head, laughing bitterly even as he plucked the kitten from his shoulder. “Bucky Barnes is dead. What I want is to be able to keep myself in check, keep.” He fell silent, looking at Eliot’s shoulder and chewing his lip a little. “Keep from doing something stupid. Again.” 

Eliot opened his mouth to tell him one more time that it wasn’t his fault, but something in James eyes kept it from coming out. One of the fun things about this project was figuring out who he’d see next behind those eyes. 

“That’s a healthy way to look at it then, I think,” Sophie said softly. She might have been afraid even five minutes ago, but like he thought, her natural charm and frightening abilities took care of her quite well. “You want to wait until Parker gets here, that’s good. Gives you time to settle in your little friend here. What are you going to name her?” 

His face went blank with surprise as he looked down. “I… I don’t know. I’ll have to think.” Softly, almost reverently as he cuddled the kitten. “I get to do that, huh, malaya?” 

Eliot chuckled softly, thumping James’ right shoulder as he got up. “And get to break in that new bank card getting kitten food and stuff.” And he had to swallow back a laugh at the sheer terror ran across the man’s face. Choices came with responsibility. “Come on, let’s go put more food in you first, then the kitten. And maybe look at those bikes.” He was getting really good at small chunks of heavy with lots of distraction. He’d have to try that on Hardison some time. Parker, well she’d never fall for it. 

He felt eyes on the back of his neck. When he turned, Nate was giving him a knowing look. The smile he wore was calculated, precise. That was never a good sign.


	28. Hello From the Other Side

His head was pounding as he pushed the bike down the road. Part of James knew he should have said something to Eliot or Parker before slipping off. But he had that cell phone Hardison had set up for him. He had the choice and the freedom to slip away. And now he had his own transportation. 

As soon as he felt he was out of earshot, he pulled to a stop and sat on the bike. Darkness surrounded him. Just sitting here made him feel better, but wasn’t enough. 

Sophie had tried a light session, just to get a feel of things. Worse, she had the trigger words that Hardison had found already. Just hearing one of them made him feel like worms were crawling around in his throat and head. He kicked the engine into life and drove slowly down the road, away from the five people talking over what may or may not be in his head. 

He’d had the time to memorize a map already. Eliot had left it on the counter when they had gotten here. So it wasn’t with any surprise that he turned towards the coast. They were only ten miles in from the coast. But he still hadn’t seen the water. So he drove. He’d forgotten the helmet that Eliot had insisted on, so his hair instantly flipped and tangled in the wind. It felt good. He hadn’t wanted to admit that the helmet restricted too much, made him too queasy to see straight.

He could still feel the icy crawl of the worms on the back of his neck. He leaned into the handlebars and sped up a bit more. The road was twisty and demanded his attention, forcing all the other thoughts out of his head. Most of them, anyway. He couldn’t outrace the prickly feel until he was actually on the coast road. 

James knew he was close when the salt rose up, riding the air and slapping him in the face. It was a different texture, but a memory of the New York docks slid across his mind. And slid away almost as fast. It was too green here, even in the dark. He could smell it. It wasn’t until he remembered the smell of New York that he realized green could have such an overwhelming smell. 

A sign pointed the way to a beach. He took the exit, slowing down to survey the lot better. It was empty. A paper cup rolled around in the light breeze near the trash can. He parked at the other end of the lot, close to the trail down to the beach. This was good though, face into the wind.

He felt a small buzz in his pocket. The cell phone. One of the weirdest things about this decade. It was unreal what they could do with this bit of plastic and electrical power. He pulled it out and winced from the bright light. A little message from Eliot. _Call if you need anything._ So, they were aware he was gone. Ok. Another message, no, a photo. Parker curled up on the couch with the kitten snuggled against her chest. He smiled. “Malaya. I think I’ll call you that still.” Russian name for an American cat. Why not?

He put the phone down, let his eyes adjust to the dark again. Still alone. But free. It was lonely. He could go back to Eliot’s, if he wanted. Could find some diner or bar still open. 

Could call Steve. Hardison had teased that phone number out of Stark’s database. Had even programmed it into his phone. 

James stared at it for a moment, then put the phone back into his pocket before he swung back out onto the road. He wanted to be much further south before he dialed it. Just to keep their location a little safer still, in case they could trace the call. He didn’t know how he knew that some people could do that. But if Hardison could, then so could Shield.

#

James wasn’t sure where he was. Still somewhere on the 101. He’d driven for an hour before finding another beach parking spot, then stared at the sky for another long stretch of time. It technically was the middle of the night. Or early morning, for the East Coast. Or wherever Steve might be. He probably wouldn’t answer, right? 

And it’s not like Steve could call back, if what Hardison said was true. James didn’t understand it, something about rolling fake phone numbers that showed up on the other end. Hardison might call Stark the better genius, but what he did was still amazing. 

He touched the number. Hit the green button like they explained to him. Gingerly held it up to his ear. The little bit of plastic felt so fragile in his hand.

“Rogers.” The voice was clipped, almost a punch. Another memory stirred, refused to come up out of the muck.

James laughed softly. Now he didn’t know what to say. “So no, I didn’t wake you up.” 

“Who the fuck is this?” The voice was harsh, the words twisting even tighter. James wanted to cringe. This was a bad idea.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should not have called. I’m sorry, Stevie.” He pulled the phone away from his cheek, looking for the red button.

He heard swearing, fumbling. He heard a soft thud, then more fumbling before… “Bucky?” The voice cracked in the middle of the word.

_Bucky Barnes is dead._

He cautiously put the phone back to his cheek. “James,” He corrected automatically. “I’m James.”

“Fuck, okay. Yeah, whatever you want. Don’t hang up, please! Are you okay? Where are you?” Words started tumbling out of the phone, too fast for him to catch. At least the tone was softer now. 

“Slow down. Too much. It’s… overloading” He took a deep breath when the other end fell silent. “I’m… safe. With friends.” 

“Yeah I uh, got the message. Are you sure they’re okay?” More background noise, a door being shut somewhere.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I just… Things are so weird now. And stuff cost so much!” The one complaint he couldn’t share with Eliot or Parker. 

A sour laugh at the other end. “Bu- James, you have no idea.” 

“I’m starting too.” Paused, then bit his lip. “Are you okay?” 

“Well, I’m still breathing.” A small pause there too. “I miss you.” 

“I know. I’m… I don’t want to come in. I know there are people who want to throw me in a prison or something.”

“I won’t let them.” There, that’s the voice he knew. Strong, determined, just like when he faced down bullies. Nazi’s. Teachers and doctors.

“You might not get to have a say this time.” James kept his own voice soft. There were times to argue. Usually later.

“Rogers, wheels up in ten. Get ready.” A woman’s voice, business like. A soft sigh sounded in his ear, Steve’s.

“Okay. I just... I needed to hear your voice. Make sure it was real.” _You know me._

“Fuck. No, wait. I don’t want you to hang up. Please, don’t hang up.” The strength was still there, as if Steve could will James to do what he wanted.

“I have to. I’ll call again.” He paused, not sure what else to say. “I have a cat.”

“A cat?” The voice was incredulous for a moment before Steve began coughing.

“Yeah. Just a kitten.” _See? I’m okay._ James frowned. Steve was still coughing. Did the asthma come back? “Steve, what’s wrong?”

“Buck, you’re allergic to cats!” It was laughter, not coughing. James laughed too, relieved.

“Not anymore, I guess. Go work, Steve. Be safe.” _Save the world again._

A soft sound, almost like someone was crying. But Steve didn’t cry. “You call me again, you jerk.”

“I will.” Looked at his phone. Hit the red button. All the sound died away. 

“Punk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title shamelessly borrowed from Adele. Because I like picking on Steve.


	29. Sunlight and Confessions

Hardison and Eliot left early that morning, heading back to Portland to see to their various businesses. James’ bike was parked under the porch with it’s twin, and the kitten was not in the house anywhere. Where the two of them had gone, Parker didn’t know. And she was bored. No way Sophie or Nate would be up before lunch, not with the long night worrying about where James had gone. 

She’d heard him pull in, sometime between when they finally gave up and went to bed and when the sun came up. She knew he’d come back, eventually. His notebooks were here. But he definitely wasn’t in the house. 

Bored. So bored Bored Parkers go to the roof. The moment she was over the edge, she was laughing at herself. James was tucked into the eaves, where he could watch the valley down behind the house and the road as well. A small ball of orange fluff was curled up against his belly. 

He didn’t look up when Parker made her way over, nor when she sat down about three feet away. Just out of arm’s reach. But she knew he was awake, just by the way he was breathing. 

They sat there for a while, companionably, watching deer slip out of the trees into the open area to cautiously graze. 

“I’m sorry.” James’ voice was soft, barely a whisper. 

“Don’t be. I expected it, what with Sophie poking in your head. You weren’t comfortable with it yet.” 

He shuddered, but didn’t move the kitten. “It just felt good to just drive, after...” He fell silent, and she thought maybe he’d lost track of the conversation. Then he added, “To think about it.”

“If this is too much, we can try it again later, when you’ve got more,” Parker searched for a word, frowning, then shrugged. “Balance is as good of a word as any.” 

“I don’t want to wait that long. Hydra is looking for me. I don’t dare let them have a chance.” His voice hardened, a lot like Eliot’s did when he thought something needed punching.

“Hardison went back to the office, just to keep an eye on that. Eliot’s gone with him to check on businesses he runs. So it’s just you and me, if you don’t want to see Sophie today.” Parker liked knowing where everyone was. It made for neater expectations. Even if James didn’t think the same way, it didn’t hurt.

“I... I don’t know.” He admitted. Something triggered a laugh, but he didn’t share. Parker just sat with him, watching the deer become bolder in the valley.

“I still don’t know what I want. All I know is what I don’t want. Does that make any sense?” He asked. His voice creaked a little in the middle. Parker wondered exactly what happened on that midnight bike ride.

“Actually, makes perfect sense to me. For a long time, I felt the same way. I’m a good thief. Nate always called me the best, but,” she shrugged. “There are always better out there. But beyond planning jobs and the thrill of pulling them off, I didn’t know what else I wanted. Until I started working with them.” That first job, the Nigerian, when she realized how Nate’s brain worked and realized she wanted to BE Nathan Ford, even if just for a moment. That was the first time since Archie had set her free that she had actually been interested in other people. 

“You’re good now, though?” The question was vague, and James was not looking at her. The answer could be anything, maybe. 

“Well, we help people now. Still break laws, so still bad there. But I’m definitely happier. Being with Alec and Eliot is something I would never have thought to ask for. But now, they’re my whole world.” 

The kitten was awake now, reacting to the tension in James’ body. Parker could see it in the way he held himself, could hear it in his breathing. The kitten didn’t seem to care, just started pulling herself up the front of his shirt. 

“We want to help you. And it’s okay if you don’t know what you want. You don’t seem to want to be the Soldier anymore, and that’s good.” He nodded, eyes still distant. She thought, fingers idly picking at the shingle beneath her. “You want to know what the scariest job we ever did was?” 

Now he looked at her, head slightly cocked. She was getting a better feel for reading him. His facial expressions were minute, the exact opposite of Hardison’s exuberance. “There were two, actually. We took down an arms dealer once, Eliot’s old boss. That’s how he knew who you were. They’d worked with Hydra, back in the day. That was seven years ago, so you were still a factor in our planning. So yeah, we knew what you could do.” 

He flushed. He actually blushed and looked away. “But you’re not that anymore. Neither are we. The three of us, we all have pasts that we’re not proud of.” She let him think on that, waited until the heat faded from his face. “But even scarier than that was when we broke up a cult. They brainwashed people without having to use any machines or any force at all. They did it all on words and persuasion. And we had to go into their camp, into their lair to be able to break it all up.” 

Parker shivered. She’d never told Alec how badly the job had affected her, but Eliot knew. She guessed that’s why he backed her play for James. Having control, being able to read someone’s mind like that and make them do something they didn’t… That horrified her down to her core. Even more when she realized that Archie had used some of the milder techniques to train her as a thief. Not everyone was careful like Sophie. 

“What happened?” The words were low, almost cracking. He still wasn’t looking at her.

“I almost married into it. Almost gave in. But Eliot shook me out of it at the last moment. And we won.” She savored that memory for a moment. “All the money they stole was given back, and they went to jail. They’re still in jail, the ones who ran the whole thing. Will be until they die.” Satisfaction. That’s the real reason she did the job. It was selfish, and she knew it. But she didn’t care.

“I can’t send mine to jail.” His words were sad. She inched over a little closer so she could tap his hand, the reinforcement technique Sophie had taught her.

“You have been, though. Everything you help us uncover, Alec’s been sending to Shield. That’s why Captain America’s so busy. He’s bringing all those bad guys in, based off your information.”

Something shifted in his face. Lightened the weight he seemed to be carrying. He sat up straighter, cuddling the kitten to his chest. “Show me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first job Parker mentions is the San Lorenzo job, the finale to season 3. The second job is one I made up. But I could see them taking on a cult now and then.


	30. A Suit of Armor Around the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so making a mark in the timeline. The next 11 chapters take place during the Age of Ultron. And there's a lot of bleed through. So yes, added a spoiler tag for Ultron.

“And you’re sure we can get Netflix and everything else up here?” Parker stood on the top of the roof, holding the pole he’d given her absolutely still.

“Yes, Parker, and Netflix. It’s a dish, so it won’t be as fast as the office, but still decent,” Hardison promised, shaking his head as he finished the connection. “Eliot should’ve let me do this years ago.” 

“Eliot’s gonna make you rip all this shit out once this job’s done.” The words were growled as the owner back traced wires up to where Hardison was, James following behind with a second set of wires. The former Solder looked utterly confused by the activity, but his fingers were clever in how he twisted them around into a braid. 

“Welcome to the twenty first goddamn century. Deal with it.” Despite how he said them, Hardison didn’t mean any malice. Just old habits, comfortable ways of being with each other. He fell silent as he hooked everything up, then stepped back to inspect it. “Okay, let’s go in and test this.” 

It’d only taken a homicidal amnesiac client to convince Eliot he needed a full security system set up, but hey, Hardison finally got his way. And despite what his lover might think, it was here to stay.

Inside, he’d taken a corner of the pantry to set everything up. Out of the main room, so that Eliot would only bitch a quarter of the time instead three quarters. Each camera came up as it should, showing nothing but empty forest and road. James stood behind him, the only one who was really interested in the security suite. So Hardison decided to take advantage and show off his expertise.

“Each camera can do a full spin, if I program it to. And I am, at random intervals.” He’s pretty sure that he’ll never see James on any of them. Once he’d learned where the cameras had been in the brewpub, they had never caught him on screen again. “And this,” Hardison added, typing in a few commands and punching the button on the router, “Means we now have internet access.” Like he had before, he separated one screen to track his Rogers location program. Then stopped to gawk. “Eliot, Parker! Get in here, now!”

The Avengers were in Johannesburg. Mainly Iron man. Who was totally Hardison’s favorite because fuck! Stark built an incredible suit. And now it had tripled in size to Hulk size. It filled the screen when the cameraman zoomed in.

Parker skidded into James, Eliot was behind her a moment later. Both sucked in their breath as the cameras followed the fight between the Hulk and the Iron Man-on-steroids. 

“Where is that,” Eliot asked, rasping his words as he leaned forward to squeeze the back of Hardison’s chair.

“Johannesburg. The whole Avengers team is there, doing some recon mission or something.” Hardison wished he was in Portland, wished he was in his office with his full access to everything in the world. He started typing furiously, remoting into his systems and cursing softly at how slow it was reacting. 

From there he leapfrogged down the back door he’d installed the last time he danced with Jarvis and found…

Nothing. 

Jarvis was gone. Stark Industries was a shell. It only took him two minutes to ransack the entire network. Even his back door email to Rogers was gone. 

Something more powerful than Jarvis had destroyed the whole thing. Something called Ultron.

Hardison shifted away from the Stark shell and started in on Ultron. And it became aware… of him.

He didn’t realize he was babbling until Parker’s hand slipped over his mouth. She breathed a single word into his ear, “Focus.”

He did. Buried every trace he had going and shut down the office before this... _thing_ backtracked to him. Then shut down the remote access and built a brand new firewall around the location here. Back traces and searches started to ping off of it immediately. Then a warning sign from his remote server started to flash as it was being invaded.

He shut down the access. All the screens went black, no data out, and most importantly, in. “I need a drink. A big one. The size of my bathtub.” The reaction wore off immediately and he slumped back into his chair, trembling in shock.

“Uhm, what was that?” James asked softly. 

“That, is a hell of a question my friend. You are officially not the scariest thing on the planet anymore.”


	31. Things that Fall, Things that Fly

Two hours later, they were back in Portland. James missed the quiet of the cabin immediately. At least Malaya the kitten rode easily in his backpack. He was determined she’d ride with him on the bike, if he had to bug out. The second bike stayed at the cabin. It’d be safe there. And it was always good to have a back up plan.

Which is why he only had four of his guns with him, his trusty Glock and Skorpion, plus a new pair of SIG-Sauers tucked away. Eliot had introduced him to the gun range owner in Apple Springs. Who’d played nice while Eliot was in the room, but to James’ delight, was not averse to making a deal out of earshot. 

Unfortunately, grenade launchers and sniper rifles weren’t in his inventory, not the kind James wanted. Time to make some new connections with this regained ability to hold a conversation. He still had long lapses and he was certain the Asset lurked behind the curtain somewhere, but Sophie had helped nudge a few things into place.

The shut down word and some of the other commands were still in his head, but this wasn’t the time to let Sophie go poking around in there. She’d done something though. Those words didn’t feel as dangerous. She was here in Portland as well, Nate too. In case this whole thing came visiting. James wasn’t the only one who needed their skills.

But now there were reports of more Iron Man prototypes all over the world, invading random places for who knew what. That’s why they came back to Portland, in case Hardison’s office was on the list. Other places in the Pacific Northwest had already been hit. The news feeds that Hardison could set up anonymously on their phones kept them up to date.

Part of James liked this. It was new. Nothing in his memory ever mentioned fighting androids or robots or whatever these were. So no memories to jump up and trip him like the ones of fighting Captain America. Sometimes it was really hard to remember that it was still Steve. The mission was still incomplete. _Finish the mission._ Finishing meant reward. Meant rest. 

Meant being wiped and put back in Cryo. Nope. Never again. Not finishing the mission. 

He stepped back from watching Hardison at his station, glancing across to the empty screen in the corner. No remote searching for Steve. No one knew where they were anyways. Hadn’t popped back up since the Hulk had broken Jo’burg. 

Something tickled in the back of his head. Big and green and hard to hit. And New York. Harlem. Had he fought the Hulk? He flexed his left arm, then let the memory slide. This was a newer model, he remembered that. But nothing else came up about it.

All five of his new friends were watching the screens and commenting. Malaya was safe in Parker’s apartment. (Not his. Don’t break things.) So he slipped out of the room silently and headed to the roof. Pulled out the phone and checked that it was charged. Sometimes he forgot. 

Parker had explained the concept of voice mail to him. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave a permanent record of anything, but he still wanted to call. Needed to, even if he wasn’t sure why the need. The little Steve, the one that tried to die just by breathing, was long gone. 

He took a deep breath. Hit the green button.

It rang a few times before it picked up. “Rogers.”

“You don't say hello. That may be the strangest thing yet.” He had to smile. He never knew what to say to Steve until it came out.

Just like the last time, there was fumbling with the phone, and a door closing. “Bu-James?” Steve remembered!

“Yeah. I hope this is okay?” Steve was on the run from mass murdering robots. He’d be expected not to be in the mood to talk.

“Of course it’s okay. You can call me whenever you want.” Steve’s voice was so low. 

“Well, you do seem to have your hands full.” 

A short, sour laugh. That was familiar on so many levels. “So you watch the news. That’s good.” 

“Yeah. It’s… why I called.” OK, so maybe he didn’t always know what to say. Pigeons stalked across the roof, pecking at something. He watched them, waiting.

“I hope your friend, the one with the computers, they’re locked down, right? This Ultron, he’s in the internet, he’s everywhere.” 

“My friend is good. He’s got us on black out.” James promised. No names, don’t use names.

“Ultron probably knows about you.” Steve’s voice was soft, worried. 

“Probably. It’s something we’ve discussed.” James paused, trying to bring himself up to why he called.

“Good. I’m glad. This is… this is worse than Schmidt all over.” James had the feeling that Steve was picking his words carefully.

“He was working towards it. You did good then, shutting him down. You’ll do good now too.” That was it, right? To remind Steve he could do this? No…

“I’m glad someone has faith in me still.” So bitter, like Eliot’s coffee. 

A plane was coming in, low. James looked up to see where it was, to track it. Planes fell out of the sky. Just like helicarriers and space men.

“Were there really aliens in New York? And you fought them?” 

Whatever Steve had been about to say disappeared in a surprised laugh. “Yeah, real aliens. I’d love to introduce you to Thor some day.” 

Thor, of Asgard. God of the Nords, Odinson. A ton of facts flew through his mind, too fast to catch. “Maybe. That’d be interesting. Different.” 

Meeting Thor would mean going to where Steve was. Meant being found. “I won’t come in.” He felt he repeated that too much. Not enough.

“I know, James, I know. I’m trying to work that out, okay?” 

The plane was getting lower, hovering. He could see it three blocks over. “Okay. I have to go now, Steve.” 

He hung up over the protests on the other end. Tucked the phone away in his pocket. The plane was still hovering. Just like he remembered some Hydra planes could. This one had a Shield emblem on it.

The back end opened. Two silver bodies, as bright as his arm, flew out the back. One was headed this way. Both SIGS slipped into his hands, comfortable. Reliable.

Now to remember how Parker said the perimeter alarm was tripped.


	32. In the Face of Justice and Patriotism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's a hint towards Civil War in here too. :/

Eliot knew the moment James slipped out of the room. He didn’t blame him. The world had started getting weird when Captain America came out of the ice, and it had just kept getting weirder since then. James had only about nine months of adapting to that and everything else in this century. While fighting his own brain and memories. 

Eliot wondered if he would be half as adjusted if the tables had been switched. 

Hardison had tentatively reopened some of his channels to track what was going on. He was also busy trying to erase the digital threads that had insinuated themselves into their programs. This Ultron was serious business. For once, none of them felt like teasing Hardison. That silence just proved how scared they were. 

Parker looked over at him, then quirked an eyebrow to where James had been sitting. Eliot looked at the door, then up to the ceiling. Out. Maybe to the roof again. She nodded, then slipped over to the computer that Hardison wasn’t using to turn on the camera feeds. Wouldn’t see James, of course. Even Parker was a bit unnerved at how good he was at not being seen. 

He was just thinking about what sort of thing to prep for later when one of the cameras shifted. Someone had picked it up, turned it around. James had it in his hands, and he was tapping at the screen. Then the view turned to point three buildings over. One of Shield’s hover planes sat midair, while two silver bodies were flying away from it.

“If they can fly, why do they need a plane?” Parker asked. Everyone was watching now.

One of the robots was flying directly towards their building. James put the camera back in place and walked out to the center of the roof, guns raised. He was wearing one of Eliot’s Henley shirts, a blue one.

“They need a plane if they want to be able to contain and carry the Soldier off.” Eliot was running, grabbing a baseball bat from his hidden arsenal by the door as he headed to the roof. Then he skidded to a stop. “Nate, Sophie, clear the brewpub. Fire alarm drill. Hardison, lock down. Parker?” He wasn’t sure how she would react.

She nodded, running for her rigging. “I’ll be there. Go!” He went. 

~ ~ ~

James was firing at the robots when Eliot made it to the roof. Single shots, testing. But effective in that they got their attention. Both of them were flying their way. Eliot skidded to a stop next to James, holding out an earbud. “Here, so we can coordinate.”

James nodded, holding both guns in his metal hand as he took the earbud. That reminded Eliot to turn his own on.

The fire alarm was going off. Sophie was ordering everyone out of the building. She and Nate were the only two voices right now. Eliot took two steps away from James to give himself some room, watching the robots come in and land on the roof. They were seriously creepy. And then it spoke.

“Ah yes, the Winter Soldier. I was hoping you were still in town. Good. I have a job for you.” The voice was extremely cultured, deep. Just as real as Jarvis had been, but without the politeness.

“Fuck off.” James didn’t have politeness either. What he did have was one of the thickest Brooklyn accents Eliot had heard in a while.

Somewhere, there was a news helicopter in the sky. “Hardison, clear out. Our location’s blown, thanks to these things.” 

The second robot looked at him. “Do you mind? I’m in negotiations here.” 

“Whatever it is, I don’t do that anymore,” James replied.

“Oh, but I thought you were in the revenge business now. Killing Hydra agents, cleaning out their dirty little nests. We can help each other here.” 

Somewhere, Hardison was cursing, not listening. “He’s back in, I can’t keep him out. This place is burned.” 

James kept his guns up, one on the bot in front of him, the second on the one facing Eliot. Steady, sure. “I got what I need, thanks. Fuck off.” 

“But you still haven’t gone after the one who’s truly responsible for this. Captain America is still out there. Already has a prison built to put you in, you know. I’ve seen the plans. Strong enough to hold him, so definitely strong enough to hold you. You and I both know, there’s only one way Justice and Patriotism can deal with you.” 

The guns shifted a little. “Like you would be any different.” One barrel waved between the two bots. “One brain, multiple bodies, right?”

“Oh very good, Mr. Winter. Can I call you that? It’s much more fitting than Bucky.” The robot actually seemed amused. Eliot shifted his grip. Knew he should say something but this was James’ fight. He’d follow the Soldier’s lead.

“No. So how’s about you call me ‘Goodbye.’ An’ you take all these copies outta here, and go fuck off into the sun.” OK, so he wanted to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapters before Civil War premiere! sooo nervous about seeing it tomorrow. Sticking with the non compliance tag though, cause I know Marvel's much crueler to Bucky than I am. No seriously!


	33. Can't Always Get What You Want

“And go fuck off into the sun.” Now he had an idea of what Steve might have felt like. Standing up, too dumb to back down against guys twice his size. Too proud to think he couldn’t take them. James could do this, no problem. Just robots, right?

“No, I’m sorry, that doesn’t work with my plan. Now you can come willingly, Mr. Winter, or I can use all these useful words about compliance. Either way, you will come with me. It’s going to be beautiful. You’re already part of the way there. I can finish the work, make you whole again.” 

James took a half step back. The words were confusing. Make him whole again? He might hate the arm, but it was his. Instinctively he shifted the plates, the servos whirring comfortably against the remains of his bones. 

“There are so many ways to make you comply. Compliance will be rewarded. With all that you can dream of, and more.” The words were right, but the way the robot was saying them was wrong. Made it so easy to ignore.

A whisper in his ear. Eliot, barely a whisper. “The pub is clear, but we need to get them away from here. The river?” 

James nodded to himself. The constant noise in the ear thing was almost comforting. “You know something, my days of compliance are over. Last time. Get out of here, don’t come back.” 

The robot actually sighed and rolled his head in frustration. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. Sputnik.” 

The voice was not within mission parameters. James laughed. Aimed and let a single bullet ping right on where the eye socket mimicked a human face. 

_Finish the mission._

What was the mission? 

Put these robots down, take the plane. Minimum casualties, minimum collateral.

Assisted Mission. Eliot Spencer added to mission parameters. Protect Spencer if he becomes nonoperational. Mission accepted.

“Mission report. Stand down Soldier! Comply!” The words that had once compelled him slid around him like shredded paper as he leapt forward.

The robot had been standing on the roof, but the moment the shot rang off of him, he had lifted into the air to meet James. He shot several times, every single one ricocheting off the heavy metal body. He had to get into the housing to find the more delicate parts. To his right, Eliot was engaging the second bot. 

Across the roofs, the plane shifted and turned their way.

In his head, he had multiple maps up, planning contingencies and strategies. Eliot wanted to take these to the river. Good zone for the minimum damage parameter. How? 

Parker appeared in his peripheral vision. Wearing one of her harnesses and running to string a rope across the street to the building beyond. Towards the river. Her wild cackle floated on the wind as she leapt.

“So what the hell you want from me anyways?” He caught the arm of the bot and threw himself backwards, trying to pull the arm off. It didn’t want to give.

“Simple.” The bot rolled with him, twisting to try and pin him to the roof. “I want Captain America dead. You want Captain America dead. It’s what some call a win/win!” Metal on metal rang out, the bot trying to catch his left arm to pin it. 

That move revealed some wiring though. James stuck his gun into the mess and fired twice, three times. Some sort of fluid started to spurt as the arm gave way. Enough for James to wrap his legs around the torso of the bot and twist around, wrenching the bot’s right arm off completely. 

Across the roof, Eliot was holding his own, but he had started backing up towards the trail that Parker was setting for them. James grinned, then grabbed his bot with both hands and slung it to crash into Eliot’s. “Let’s go!” 

Someone was talking in his ear. “News reports of three other bots across the river, raiding an old Shield office and carrying off filing cabinets and objects unknown. Now headed our way.” Hardison. The man’s name was Hardison. Mission Parameter: remember the team.

The two bots were standing up, but Eliot stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “Well this will be fun,” he said, arm bleeding from the reopened gunshot wound. It didn’t seem to affect him. He held a baseball bat comfortably. There were chips knocked out of it, but it was mostly in one piece.

“Ready when you are,” James murmured, glancing back to gauge distance to rope, distance to ground, distance across to the next building, calculating the speed needed. “Want to go first?” 

“In a minute,” he said, shifting to line up a beautiful swing to the head of his bot. James saw his shot and stuck a gun muzzle into the neck joint before the bot could swing back and emptied the clip. Oil and fluid spurted everywhere, but the bot went down. The second stepped up, swinging with it’s remaining arm.

James ducked and reloaded as Eliot swung at the bot, knocking it back a step. Together they drove it back. Swing, kick, shift. James waited for his shot, then shoved the barrels of both guns into the neck, drilling a dozen shots into the same place. It dropped, all lights going dark. 

“Nice work. Let’s go, three more coming in and that one.” Eliot pointed at the plane. James looked over to see it turning slowly towards them. Gun turrets dropped from the nose, aiming at them.

“Well shit.” As one they turned and leapt for the rope Parker had left them, sliding along as the roof exploded into bits behind them.

#

Parker had laid a trail all the way across five buildings to the closest bridge. It was obvious that the order was Capture, not Kill, because the gunfire behind them was tightly focused, tight enough to take them out if that’s what the robots wanted. As they hit the last building and started down to the ground, the other three bots that Hardison had mentioned flew up to the plane to deposit their burdens. Then they turned towards the two men. 

Sirens sounded from all over, plus two helicopters now circled them. Yup, this cover definitely blown.

James had reloaded and given one of his guns to Eliot. Now that he was closer to Parker, he tossed her the other SIG, pulling his trusty Skorpion free. “Get them in the necks, in the wiring. Shut them down.” Parker’s face was white, but she nodded, shifting the gun in her hand.

“And don’t shoot us!” added Eliot, making her laugh. 

“Either of you know how to fly that plane?” he asked, a second set of contingencies running through his head. So far, mission still within parameters. 

“Nope,” Parker replied, and Eliot echoed that answer. Both looked to him for the strategy. The plane was starting to hover again, the turret silent. Four bots came out, turned towards him. 

“Well, I do. Okay, so they’ll come after me. Run, I’ll bring them down here. You come up behind, help me shut them down. Then we’ll take that plane and get out of here before the coppers get here, pick up the others, yeah? Okay.” 

He didn’t wait for the answer, just turned and started firing. Sparingly. He only had sixty rounds for the Skorpion. Twenty were enough to bring the four down to him.

“Mr. Winter, I’m growing very tired of this. You need to understand, there is no better way to get what we both want. Working together will do that.” 

“Here’s the thing. You don’t know what I want.” Hell, James still didn’t know what he wanted. “And what you think I want, is so fucking wrong.” He lifted up the gun again, aiming for the throat. “Captain America is my friend.” 

“Humans.” The word was a curse. All four bots raised up their hands and started firing laser bolts of some sort. 

The bot kept talking, but James ignored him now. He rolled forward while Eliot and Parker did as he asked, running to the side. That gave the four bots more room to focus in on him. It was obvious now that this was the Kill order. 

His roll landed him against the legs of one bot. He ducked beneath the outstretched arm, climbing its back like a ladder. His arm was stronger than the bot’s. He could twist it as the pulse started to fire at the one to its left, even as the other three fried the one he was riding. 

Parker appeared behind one, lights flashing as she slammed her taser against a CPU. Eliot appeared behind the third, a SIG in each hand as he slammed the guns into the neck like James had done up on the roof, unloading both clips.

The last one spun, cursed, then dove at James again. 

He shot again. The Skorpion clicked empty. He dropped it and spun to slam his metal hand against the chest of the bot, driving it back. Found purchase with his flesh hand to hang on, then he started pounding into the chest, cracking the carapace. 

Eliot reached in, spinning James and the bot so that both men landed on top of it, pinning it to the ground. Even better. James kept punching until the chest plate cracked away, revealing a small power source. He dug his metal fingers in underneath it and yanked hard. Oil spurted all over him as the bot went silent. 

Parker leaned in, grinning and panting hard. “I think that was all of them?” 

“All that are gonna mess with us. A few others in town are bugging out,” Hardison said. These ear buds were really nice, James thought. 

“Okay. I think we should too,” Nate said quietly. “You guys want to come pick us up?”

“Hardison, could you uhm, get my kitten? And my notebooks?” James asked, headed for the plane. His forearm creaked as he dipped to pick up his Skorpion. He stopped to look at the plating, growling when he saw the same one that the woman had damaged with her electrical charge last year had started to click open, revealing some of the servos beneath it. 

This day was just aces all around.


	34. Don't Feed The Trolls

Maria Hill was used to seeing a lot of bad things go down. And to be honest, Loki was only number two on her list. Ultron, this was only bad because they didn’t have old Shield’s resources to lean back on. Still, Stark left her with plenty of tools at hand. And Steve had introduced her to Sam Wilson. She never knew a VA counselor could be so useful. 

The two of them sat in an empty office, watching a computer screen with a live feed of a very tired Steve Rogers somewhere… Well it was green in the open door behind the Captain. “And that’s where we stand. We take them down when we can, but a lot of times they get in, get whatever it is they want, and leave us cleaning up after them, just like before.” 

“Except for this one spot in Portland. I’m glad you’re sitting down for this one, Steve.” This is the video that Sam had insisted on showing to the Captain. Maria focused her attention on Steve himself rather than the footage. She’d seen it twice already before Sam had come to her, asking if she could get a message through. 

Shock, fear, pride, satisfaction and, to her surprise, humility cycled through his face. “I should have known Ultron would try to take him.” 

“You knew where he was,” she stated, letting a little heat into her words. She worked for the Avengers, after all. And the Winter Soldier was a threat to them. 

“I knew he was on the West Coast. Didn’t guess Portland.” Steve’s face was mostly blank, but amusement curled the corner of his mouth.

“You do know that we tracked him after DC, destroying a lot of Hydra nests before going completely off the grid.” Maria paused, then added, “and spilled a lot of blood while he was at it.”

“We were tracking him too. Trying to find him before you did.” Now Steve looked up at her, his jaw set. Steve Rogers, not Captain America. There was more of a ‘little shit determined to disturb her breakfast’ look in his eyes. 

“He’s dangerous, he needs to be secured, Steve.” She flicked a file up onto his screen, the scene in an abandoned DC bank. One man stuffed into what had been a cryogenic chamber. It was no longer operable after being crushed inward. The second man was in what was left of a chair, unexplained metal protrusions thrust completely through his body. 

Behind her, Sam replayed the one bit of the conversation that the news channels had been able to get on audio. “Captain America is my friend.” 

“He’s not dangerous now. He’s not stable, that’s true. We know that. But Ultron couldn’t turn him, or compel him,” Sam laid the emphasis heavy on compel.

“He did say his hacker was good,” Steve murmured, rubbing his jaw. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me that he had a twin!” Sam was both indignant and laughing as he said that. Maria had to give him that one. The two fighters on the screen were uncanny in their similarities. But only one had a metal hand. Bu- no.. James had led the fight.

“I still don’t like it, Steve.” Maria crossed her arms, locking her own jaw as she stared at him. “Anything could happen out there. And now the whole world has seen this. Hydra included. It’s as much for his safety as anything.” Maria couldn’t help it, her voice softened. “We still don’t know how many other Soldiers they have to send after him.” Or you, you dumb ass, she thought.

“They haven’t found him yet. And if you think you can find him, you can try,” Steve replied, smirking a little. Across from her, Sam had the same look.

“I think it’s safe to say, he’s not our biggest issue, but we do need to keep an open eye on how this plays out,” Sam said, trying to sooth the waters back down.

“I want in on whatever it is you two have been up to. If you want me to help keep him safe, or at least aware of what’s going on, I have to know,” Maria demanded. “Or we’ll go get him ourselves.” 

“You mean Shield.” Steve leaned in towards the camera. Now he was wearing his Captain America face. “After this Ultron mess is over, you and I are going to have a long talk about that.” 

Maria nodded. “And a few other things. That conversation is going to go both ways.” His look didn’t shift, but his eyes did narrow a bit. If Steve Rogers thought he could intimidate her, he’d forgotten she had once worked for Nick Fury as well. 

“While we’re on the subject,” Steve said, shifting a bit after leaning back again. “The hacker I mentioned, he had created a back channel to email me things, before this mess happened. Sam has access to that channel. I expect them to send us more stuff. Keep an eye on it for me.” 

Sam saluted at the screen, still smiling that same calm smile he hardly ever lost. “They took that Shield jet and disappeared, he could be anywhere now. He’s safe, Steve. You worry about Ultron.” 

Steve saluted back and turned off the screen at his end. The office fell silent, but Maria knew Sam was watching her. She decided to let him. Last time she’d seen him was at the party, before that had gone south. He looked tired, but still as good as ever. 

Finally, she turned, leveling her most patient look on him. She still had an ace up her sleeve he probably didn’t know about, but she needed to know what they knew to be able to play it. “Spill it, Wilson.” 

That easy open smile again. “Captain’s orders, ma’am.”


	35. Contingencies

Riding in the super jet was almost as cool as riding in the surveillance van they’d stolen in DC that one trip. But there were too many guns on board for it to be truly comfortable. 

James was piloting. Malaya, the little kitten, rode on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Nate was sitting next to him, white knuckling but trying to hide it. Parker and Sophie had exchanged multiple amused glances at that. Eliot was in back, stowing the guns and ammo at James’ request. No one argued, really, despite guns not really being a part of what they do. Too many flying robots out there.

In the center, Hardison was working his butt off. Parker got up to rub his shoulders, trying to give comfort as much as she could even as she watched the screen. New IDs were being laid for the three of them. New paperwork being activated to transfer ownership of the pub to the employees, with Amy designated as their spokesperson/manager. Ever since they had to blow their first office, they’d kept contingency plans in place. 

“So wow, huh?” She murmured against his ear. “You must be so happy. Flying robots!”

“I was happy. Until I realized they wanted to kill me. And you. And everyone we know.” Hardison spared her a quick smile. “So where do you want to go next?” 

“Eliot’s place for now. James should be able to land in the valley pretty easily. Then we can have a war council. I’m not letting you and Nate just drag us off somewhere like the last two times, and I won’t do that to you. We all decide.”

He smiled, kissing her cheek. “That was pretty cool, seeing you take down that robot with your taser.” 

She grinned. Too often they told her to ease up. “That was pretty awesome.” She turned and looked towards the front, then whispered softly. “Something’s up with James though.” 

Hardison shared a look with her, one eyebrow going up eloquently. “It’s like the Soldier is back.” 

That would explain a lot. There was a lot more control, a lot more decisiveness in how he moved. Right now, he flew like he’d been doing it every day for the past seventy years. Every button and screen on the cockpit meant something to him, even if he cursed it for being stupid and/or useless. The cursing was new too. And very liberal. 

“Starting down, guys better fuckin’ buckle up!” James yelled back, shifting and not even bothering to look at Nate clinging to the harness around him. It amused her to know that there was someone in the world who could scare Nate Ford so badly. 

She buckled back in next to Sophie, glancing across to make sure Bunny and James’ backpack were stowed safely. Just the basics, they had said. They’d come back in when Amy said it was cool to get the rest. If there was anything. The police were crawling all over it before they’d even got in the air.

“Hey Hardison, make sure Interpol doesn’t send Sterling to the pub, okay?” She yelled across. Wherever they went, she wanted to make sure Evil Nate didn’t have a chance to follow them.

“Don’t worry, they've got him very busy with all the stolen artwork the Avengers uncovered from Hydra. He’s a specialist, you know.” Hardison smirked to himself. That meant he’d done something to the records at Interpol. Absolutely fine by her!

“Good.”

“You three still have problems with Sterling?” Sophie asked. She was braced too, but in a much more casual way. Parker wondered what her plans would be with Nate, once this was all over. Maybe back to England?

“Now and then. We mess with him a lot. Anytime he’s in Portland, I go and change things around in his office.” 

“I send him nasty grams now and then when he messes up another case,” Hardison said over his shoulder.

“Do NOT tell me what Eliot does,” Sophie said with a groan. 

“Eliot leaves him alone because I can’t stand the look on his face even when I beat it into the ground,” the man in question said, looking out the windows sadly at the view. They were hovering, hovering over the valley floor as James brought them in for a very gentle landing. 

“As soon as I drop the cloaking, Shield will know exactly where the fuck we are. So I suggest we unload shit and I go park the bird somewhere else. Who wants to come get my ass?” James had unbuckled and walked to them, slipping the kitten from his shoulder to zip her into the backpack, despite her mewling protests. 

“I can,” Eliot offered. “Just call me when you land.” He was standing by the back door, waiting for the ramp to finish descending. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We can see to the bird.” 

A stranger stood just off the ramp, dressed in a very neat black suit and tie. His hair was precisely trimmed and he smiled like a used car salesman. My name’s Phil Coulson, and I’d really love to talk to you for a moment, if you don’t mind.” 

James caught the bar above the ramp with his metal hand, staring down at the stranger. “Fucking Shield. Dammit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leverage episodes referenced: The Run Down Job, s5e10. Also s2e1 and s4e1 for new offices. Sterling is in a lot, but I'll always love him best in s2e12, the Zanzibar Marketplace. Mark Shephard FTW!
> 
> Updated a few tags as well. The description on the main page is going to say this too, but this will be part one of three. Part two is being a little slower due to someone's wrist needing to be part cyborg instead of using the original faulty carpal tunnel bones. 
> 
> Yes. I have seen Civil War. Yes, I have THOUSANDS of feels. I also may have giggled at predicting part of it. Totally unintentional!! *cough* No really! I needs to go see again. a dozen times.


	36. Rogers Owes Me for This One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the one following have a lot of swear words. Earning another bit of my mature rating

He stared at the suit standing so very calmly at the foot of the bird’s ramp. Coulson, he knew that name. Phil Coulson, agent of Shield, right hand man of Nick Fury, died in the Battle of New York, resurrected somehow, currently head of the very diminished and almost helpless Shield. And he stood there like it was an honor.

“Which cock sucking alarm or sensor did I fucking miss? I’m assuming you were riding our ass the whole damn way?” Too much cursing. He couldn’t stop it. The control switch was missing. Or was it symptomatic of other things?

“Well, to be honest sir, the whole bird is a flying radio beacon, if you know what you’re doing. And I have one of the best on my team.” The man smiled again, fidgeting like a five-year-old happy to have won a spelling contest. This was a look he usually saw kids give to Captain America posters on the street. To have it turned towards him was unnerving. And this guy was a Shield agent to boot.

“I was gonna give the bird back. Too fucking conspicuous.” There was movement out in the field. He assumed it was more agents. “How many jackasses do you have out there right now?”

“Just four, sir. Uhm, forgive me, the cursing, is it…” Coulson paused, embarrassed. James made a bet with himself that this guy headed up the Captain America fan club within Shield.

“Damn mental tic. Can’t fucking shut it off yet.” To be honest, he wasn’t even trying. He still didn’t move, because he knew he was blocking the five behind him from being seen clearly, unless they’d managed to jack the cameras after all. “What’s with the ‘sir’ shit? And are you here to take my ass in?” 

“No sir, just to assist, if we could. Steve Rogers has been looking for you nearly a year.” The guy practically lit up when he said Steve’s name. Yup, five bucks to me. “And, well, you might say I’m a huge fan.” The suit was still lit up with excitement, and now he blushed. James decided he’d be better off ignoring that.

“Guess you don’t sit down for Sunday tea very often. He knows.” A whole line without cursing! What the fuck was going on in his synapses? 

“We haven’t had that pleasure lately, no. I’m here because of Nick Fury.” 

Fury, black man, bald. DC. Eye patch. Driving a black SUV all shot up. He’d blown it up even more. Shot Fury through a building wall. Successful mission. “Didn’t know he was still alive. Bunch of us fuckers who don’t know how to be dead hanging around these days.”

The suit actually blushed. Again. “Please, can we just talk? No one’s going anywhere they don’t want to. You have my word on that.” His words were earnest. James took a second to wonder if the guy was actually as honest as he sounded. Then decided no. Shield didn’t have any honest people in their employ.

Five agents, probably armed. He flexed his hands and the damn plate on his forearm flicked open again. He ignored that, but took couple steps down the ramp, swinging around Coulson to survey the field. 

Another plane just like their stolen one sat downwind. An Asian woman stood at the ready about ten feet away, a tall black man just outside the ramp of their plane. No one else in sight. 

James turned and stepped back on the ramp, brushing by Coulson again. The suit didn’t move. “Gimme five minutes,” he shot back, slapping the ramp to close behind him. Once it sealed shut, he sighed and muttered, “This is just so fucking beautiful.” 

The plate clicked again. A storm was building in the back of his head, causing his nerves to tense up. All he wanted to do was lie down somewhere dark. 

Then his eyes started focusing to the left. Repeatedly. “Fuuuuck.”


	37. So He's a Myth Now?

OK, if he honest with himself, Hardison knew it was easier to appreciate life now than it had been before Nate Ford had tapped him for his crew. Nowadays it was like a dream, with Parker and Eliot. There was a lot of unexpected in their lives, what with various jobs going south in spectacular ways. That was the spice. But this job was taking the cake.

Hardison realized he might be hungry, while he thought about all this.

One, the pub was blown. The best office they’d ever had, with the sweetest set up ever. He doubted they’d ever be able to repeat that. Two, Eliot’s cabin was blown. Which meant Portland itself was no longer a viable base of operations. He really liked this town though. 

But it had gotten comfortable. Very few projects left to do here. And the biggest client they’d ever had was staring out the cockpit window with his jaw locked, listening to Eliot’s whispered advice. As Hardison watched, James’ eyes started to tick to the left again. Hardison didn’t think it was a voluntary action.

Parker was arguing quietly with Nate and Sophie, holding her own easily. She’d come so far this past decade. He slipped over to her side, pressing a hand gently to the small of her back, listening. 

“It’s not our choice, Nate. It’s James’. And he wants to stay with us, where he’s safe. Shield would lock him up in one of their boxes and wouldn’t even let him keep the cat. It’s probably the worst thing they could do, but they wouldn’t see it that way,” Parker was arguing. Hardison knew James could hear every word of this, which might be why he was ticking right now.

“Parker, maybe they’re right. This is an Avengers level problem.” Nate was pointing in a random circle at the sky. “Sentient robots came to recruit him. This isn’t our world!”

“Right, it’s not yours. I appreciate you and Sophie coming out to help us, but you don’t have to see it through. We will.” Parker crossed her arms and set her jaw, reminding Hardison again at how extraordinary she was. She was an Avenger in her own right. 

Nate held up his hands, backing off. Sophie stepped up, her arms crossed too. “Parker, right now we need to get these people out of your valley, and then get off the grid again. Then we’ll make plans, okay?”

“Yup, and I’m figuring that part out as we go.” Parker smiled and moved over to James, rubbing his good arm. The left had taken some damage in the fight, one of the plates was swinging open. Hardison’s hands itched to play with it, but not until they were in a safer spot. Until James felt secure enough to let him. 

“Pretty sure our five minutes are up. I think we should go talk to them.” Her voice was soft, but Parker was using what she called her Boss voice, making both Eliot and Hardison look at her in question. She made a small hand move, gesturing to ask her later. 

It worked though, James straightened up and turned to her, eyes steady again as he watched her face. “You don’t think it’s a trap? 

Parker shook her head. “They would have tried to take us in the plane by now if it was. I bet he’s still standing there at the foot of the ramp. Let’s look?” 

James nodded before walking down the jet to punch the hatch lock. Hardison watched, doing the math in his head. Parker was the boss, what she said went for James. He was used to taking orders from a director or a handler type. He also said he only trusted Sophie if Parker was there with her. 

Whether it was something they’d done or just a subconscious move, Parker seemed to have become James’ handler somewhere in his programming. Interesting. Hardison wanted to test that idea later. And somehow Parker guessed? Or knew? 

The man who’d identified himself as Phil Coulson still stood at the foot of the ramp. But now he was joined by another woman, one who was vaguely familiar to Hardison. She wore a black jacket but she didn’t hold herself like a Shield agent, standing confident with a tablet in her hands. His hands itched at the sight of it. Shield tech, maybe even better than Stark tech!

“I took the liberty of having Skye come out. She’s got some information you may need.” 

James stood in front of them again, hanging off the pipe like a comic book goon. It was effective to hide the broken plate on his arm. Parker stood next to him though, and cocked her head at the girl. “I’m not sure how you could get more information than what we already have.”

“Well, your hacker is good, very good. But we have a few servers that were, shall we say, better hidden off the main net.” Coulson smiled, bringing his hands together in front of him. 

The girl turned the tablet around and held it out for either James or Parker to take. Neither moved. “This is everything I’ve been able to assemble from the old SSR files that Peggy Carter kept on both Steve Rogers and the serum used on him. We ah, had a few files about the Winter Soldier, but nothing about your identity.” As soon as she spoke, he knew why she sounded so familiar.

Hardison stepped forward to take the tablet, frowning despite his giddiness at getting the Stark tech. “I didn’t know that Shield backed the Rising Tide.” 

“We don’t,” Coulson said. “But I’d be a fool if I let a good agent slip through my fingers because of that.” The man was smiling again. No, correction, he hadn’t stopped smiling since James first opened the the door. The blatant hero worshiping was a bit unnerving, actually. 

Hardison snorted and stepped back to stand beside Parker, scrolling through the information. Biology wasn’t his strong suit, but they’d figure something out. 

“I usually know all the hackers around that are as good as you. And it’s bugging me that I have no idea who you are,” the girl said, her tone challenging as much as anything else.

“Alec Hardison,” Parker said for him, crossing her arms. Oh, he knew that look. Parker didn’t like anyone discounting his talents. 

“No way, Hardison’s a myth!” The girl laughed, shaking her head. He just smiled at her, letting a hand rest in the small of Parker’s back. 

“Yeah you just keep believing that. Chaos loves it, even though I keep beating his ass every chance I get,” he replied, the satisfaction bubbling over him as Skye’s jaw dropped. “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

“She’s cute,” Parker decided. Hardison bit his tongue on the question of how cute as she turned to James. “Want to talk? See what they want?” 

“It’ll only take a moment, sir, I promise. We have other matters to get to as well,” Coulson said.

James actually laughed. But he only nodded instead of speaking. Hardison glanced back at Eliot, giving him a small head tilt, asking him to join the group. There had been times when James slid into Russian and lost English for a while. 

Coulson actually stuck out his hand in an offer to shake James’. “It’s just a real honor to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Skye laughed, rubbing her hands together. “He’s a bit of a fan boy, sorry.” 

James rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh that sounded a lot like one Eliot would’ve made, then took a couple steps down off the ramp before taking the offered hand. “Sergeant Barnes, or Bucky Barnes, whatever you want to call him, he’s dead. I’m James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaos was in three episodes, and always a delight to hate. The Two Live Crew job, s2e7, the Ho Ho Ho job, s3e14, and the Last Dam job, S4e18. Viva la Wil Wheaton!


	38. A Job is a Job is…Not a Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Regarding Shield. This takes place as an interlude before the Inhuman storyline at the end of season two, or in the middle but before Skye goes to live with them. oops. Spoiler in the note, sorry

James, Parker, and Coulson stood in the center of the field, talking low, but Eliot could still hear them from where he stood, thanks to the ear buds. He was whispering translations into Russian while Hardison was talking with the girl and another guy who’d come out of the plane. Nate and Sophie had disappeared into the house with as much of their belongings they could carry, which left Eliot to stand and trade glances with Melinda May. He could tell it irritated her no end when he smiled and nodded at her. “Hey, how ya doin’?”

She was shorter than he had expected. And she was not happy. He understood her viewpoint. This was too open, not secured, and there was no telling what else those robots had gotten up to. And the glare she sent his way made him shiver a little, not that he’d admit it. Eliot didn’t kill any more, but his bodycount was high enough that he knew the meaning of some of her glances.

“I’m not sure of your plans, but we could help. And we could use a guy like you. Actually, all of you would be welcome. You’ve got a unique skill range.” That was Coulson again. The guy was seriously infatuated with James. Or his history. Maybe his relationship with Captain America. 

“Nyet. I’m good,” James said. Somehow the profanity tic had eased up on him, but he still had the surly personality. Now with a heavy side of Russian accent. Eliot wasn’t sure if that was new or something that had been buried from another era. “But we are keeping the guns.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Some of those are experimental weapons,” Coulson replied. May was definitely glaring at them.

“If I can’t get ammo for them, then yeah, I’ll leave them. But with that Ultron out there, I’d rather be prepared.” James was glaring at Coulson, his jaw tense and set. Something about the guy was setting him off. Eliot glanced at Parker, raising an eyebrow. 

“You can spare a few guns. And it’s not like we’ll let them drop into someone else’s hands,” Parker said. Coulson glared at her. His body language said that he didn’t like her taking point for James. This would be amusing as hell if it wasn’t so dangerous.

“At least let Fitz take a look at your arm. We’ve had much more experience with cybernetics than Stark or the rest of Shield.” 

Parker and James shared a glance. “Par-” James paused, flexing his jaw a little before continuing. “My people are there the entire time,” James finally said, relenting a little. 

“Agreed.” A slight pause. “You sure I couldn’t convince you to join us?” 

“I’m sure. I’ve done enough fighting in my life.” The last bit came out in Russian. James was exhausted, and it showed. Eliot calculated quickly how many calories the man had burned. He needed food and sleep soon. Eliot had seen that the week before, when they trained in this very field. And before, at the brewpub one day when he became too stressed. He devolved into the post mission Soldier, weak and vulnerable, just as they had programmed him. 

“Maybe your Fitz could look another time. We need to go,” Parker said, one hand gently on James’ right hand. Normally she’d be touching his metal arm, but James didn’t seem to be tracking the action very well anymore. Eliot spared a moment to wonder if Coulson saw it too.

“I understand. I do apologize for disrupting your location here. It’s not in our flight records, I assure you.” Skye handed Coulson something, a plain business card. Coulson looked at it for a second as if to confirm the information, then held it out to Parker. “This is a secure line, you can reach someone at any time.” 

Parker nodded, then slipped it into her pocket. “Let’s do a last sweep in the plane before we hand it over, yeah?” She smiled up at James, reassuring. 

Coulson fidgeted a little, hesitating before he nodded. Eliot gave a short bow of respect to May, then walked around to join them at the door of the plane. James had gone inside, then sat down on the nearest seat, trembling. Parker shot him a quick look, then sat beside him. “Eliot, don’t let them look in here.”

“No problem.” He stepped into the center of the ramp, arms crossed, one gun slung easily at his side. He spoke softly so he wouldn’t disturb Parker and James. “Hardison, could you come back to the plane? We have an issue.”

“Okay, I’m on my way. Just trying to talk them out of a few more of these tablets. Man, these are sweet!” Hardison had toys. Typical.

“Dammit Hardison, just get in here!” Eliot felt his heart beat jump a tic at the vitriol in Parker’s voice, but he didn’t turn around.

Hardison didn’t answer directly, but he said some rapid goodbyes to the last guy in the plane, the one they called Fitz, and Skye before trotting over. Eliot stepped aside to let him on, risking a glance inward. 

James was hunched over and shaking, sweat streaking through his long hair. No words came out of him, just tiny whimpers. Programming was bleeding through. He was on the verge of shut down. 

“I got this, Eliot. C’mon Hardison, help me,” Parker said. Eliot turned back to keep guard, but he listened closely. 

She was murmuring the compliance commands to him. “Listen Soldier. You’re not done with the mission. Hold it together for another five minutes, and then we can give you your downtime. Can you do that for me? Five minutes. On your feet.”

Someone was shuddering, then the seat creaked as James responded to her words. “Do we have everything? Hardison, grab that bag, to make it look like we did need more. Oh and the ammo. Eliot, catch!” 

He turned to catch the heavy sack she threw at his head. He slung it over his shoulder, then turned back to the field. The girl Skye and the tall black man were heading their way. “Pilot’s on his way over. Are we done here?” 

“Yeah,” Parker answered before walking down the ramp. “Five minutes, Soldier. Go on up to the cabin and then we’ll let you shut down.” 

Eliot turned to let them past. Cold ice slid down his spine as he looked into James’ face. He wasn’t there. No one was. Or maybe just the Soldier. His expression was as frozen and empty as the robots they fought earlier. But he moved easily as he followed Parker’s command, heading up to the cabin without even looking at the other crew. 

He shifted his bag, following Parker and Hardison, keeping an eye on the Shield people. Both of them gave him an odd look as they passed, but Eliot merely smiled. He stood on the deck once they were at the cabin, watching to ensure that all the Shield people were on the planes, and didn’t turn away until he could no longer hear the whine of their engines.


	39. Ground Control to Sergeant Barnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got very dis-associative. If that is something you don't wish to read, you can skip to the next chapter without missing anything, I promise.

Energy level, critical. Shutdown imminent. “Five minutes,” his Handler had said. Marked from her words. Now 1.23 minutes until shut down.

Visual failing. Continual tic to the left, sub optimal. 

“Oh my god, Parker, what did they do?” 

The chair was not present. Shut down paused. Muscle fatigue increasing. 

“They didn’t do anything! He’s just obeying his programming. Help me get him to the couch, hurry!”

This was not protocol. He did not want the machine. He did not want to be wiped. He stood.

“Sit down, Soldier, we need maintenance.” 

The arm was damaged. They never put him back in cryo until all repairs were seen to. He sat, stretching his arm out according to protocol.

“James. James, can you hear me?” 

The Handler was leaning in. Her face showed disappointment. She was frowning. _Mission fail. Corrections required._

“James, it’s okay, you’re safe. Eliot’s on watch. You can shut down now.”

Visuals began to tic again. Countdown resumed. Muscle tics joined the visual. It was time for the machine. But there was no machine.

“Oh god, he’s seizing! Help me stretch him out Hardison!” 

Hands on his body. Countdown reached 0. Blackness.

~ ~ ~ 

Visuals returning. Hazy. Very little light.  
Mission protocol? Unknown.  
There was a body on the other couch across from him. Long blond hair identified the Handler.  
Mission protocol? Mission in progress.  
He tried to sit up. Perimeter check required. Muscle strength at critical lows. Energy level also at critical lows. He took a deep breath through his nose. They had not inserted the feeding tube.  
_Mission failure. Punishment: starvation. Reassessing._  
He finally made it upright, turning to survey the room. An open room. Kitchen at one side. Fireplace on the center of the wall, deck beyond. No techs. No gear. Just the sleeping Handler.  
He sat there, waiting for orders. 

~ ~ ~

The sunrise was beautiful. Light slowly filled the room with golden and rose colors. Outside the windows, it was clear, no fog. Perfect sight lines down the valley. Something moved. Two deer. He allowed himself to watch them. Muscle strength slowly returning.  
Movement to his left. The Handler had sat up. Was looking at him. He could not read her face.  
He waited for orders.

~ ~ ~ 

“James, James Grant. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Bucky. You’re in there still, I know it.” The Handler said those words repeatedly.  
The Handler brought a glass of water. Put it in his hand. Waited. Ordered him to drink it.  
He drank until the glass was empty.

~ ~ ~

The Handler gave him simple orders.  
He ate what she told him to.  
Drank more liquids that she told him to.  
Remained in the seat.  
The display in the center of the room played what she called a cartoon. Animated creatures spoke nonsense and did impossible things. “Animaniacs, you like this.”  
He watched.  
Awaited repairs.  
Awaited further orders.

~ ~ ~

Five voices behind him. Whispering soft. The techs often had conversations like this.  
How did he remember that?  
The machine was still absent. Oh. No wipe yet. Extended mission?  
_Oh._

~ ~ ~

“What’s wrong with him?” Older operative agent, code named Sophie. He remembered.  
“As far as I can tell, he was in the middle of his shut down process when the seizure struck. He might be stuck,” Tech Hardison said. He remembered names for all of them. Since when did they let him have names?  
_Mission parameters: remember the team._  
“It’s creepy,” replied Sophie. _You should be on the inside, lady._  
“He’s done something like this before, shut down after something too intense to process. As far as I know, the seizure is new.” That was agent Eliot. Eliot Spencer. He swallowed, remembering something that tasted good. Pizza. Maybe pizza could be part of the extended mission?  
“It worries me. Maybe we should have talked to those Shield people, see if they knew something on deprogramming this.” Handler Parker. Mission imperative. She wanted to wipe his programming?  
To become undone? _To be nothing. No pain, no punishments. Sounds like…_  
He coughed. Leaned over as the coughing continued to wrack his body. He couldn’t breathe.  
What was the mission?  
_Finish the mission. Stand down._  
Standing down. The coughing would not stop. Handler was sitting next to him, hand light on his shoulder, asking questions he couldn’t hear.  
_You stupid idiot. Snap out of this already._  
A face flashed into his mind. Bruised, broken. “I’m with you until the end of the line.”  
_Oh._  
He finally took a deep breath, resumed coughing. Breathed again and sat back. The Handler was pushing another glass of water in his hand.  
He drank. Coughed. Drank some more.  
“James, are you with us now?” The Handler asked.  
Language. English. He had the data. Would not unlock. He nodded.  
_James Buchanan Barnes._  
A memory.  


> “Bucky?”  
>  _The voice was coming through a ridiculously small piece of plastic.  
>  Bucky Barnes is dead._  
>  He cautiously put the phone back to his cheek. “James,” He corrected automatically. “I’m James.”

The Mission was his friend.  
_Finish the mission._  
Oh fuck off already.  
He closed his eyes, leaned back in the seat. Things went silent again. 

~ ~ ~

James opened his eyes, looked around at the five people staring at him in various levels of shock and concern. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Beta reader told me she hated me after this chapter. I'm sorry. *leaves Kleenexes*
> 
> Also, yes, Bowie fan. Linking my favorite cover because hey! ISS!! https://youtu.be/KaOC9danxNo


	40. Swimming

Parker wouldn’t let James watch any news footage as he recovered. Instead, she reacquainted him with different movies, letting him curl up on the couch and try to settle himself mentally. But in the pantry, it echoed nicely when they discussed the Ultron news and the results of the Steve Rogers Tracker. Hardison had figured out how to protect them from any further discovery. Or at least, James assumed he had. He heard something about Seoul. About a train wreck and that Captain America was involved somehow and more of those stupid robots. But Eliot had made sure that he had his backpack and his notebooks at hand. Malaya walked over him at random times, but the kitten usually stuck pretty close to him. 

“You were in Asset mode for nearly two days, James. Post mission, yes, but still.” Parker sat with him a lot, watching movies, cartoons. “You didn’t even recognize Animaniacs.” 

“Okay, now I know you’re talking crap, cause that’s impossible.” He said that with a smile, hoping to get one back. 

He did. “And now I know you’re really back.” She shifted closer, leaning in to rest her head on his metal shoulder. One hand on his forearm to hold the broken hinge in place. The kitten was curled up in his lap, watching warily in case she got picked up and carried off again.

James could feel Parker’s warmth against his ribs and his leg. It felt good, her trust in him. Muscle fatigue was still at a critical level, but he was improving. He didn’t remember having this before, post mission. Probably because they patched him up and put him back in cryo too fast. “I am back. I’m sorry. I don’t know how that triggered.” 

A long silence met him. Then she said, “We talked about that. As far as Eliot guesses, we think that you gave yourself a mission when the robots appeared. It stands to reason they had shut down protocols in place for when you completed your missions. That’s when you would’ve been the most dangerous. Where you would be closest to your memories floating free.” 

James thinks on that for a few minutes, watching Dory talk to the sharks again. He liked her. Rapid Access Memory Failure was comforting to see outside his own head. He had large gaps, different than before, it felt. Some memories were clearer, some a lot fuzzier. He couldn’t tell if any had been deleted. “Maybe. I always remember being compelled into the chair. Knowing the relief of standing down mixed with the fear of the machine. They never could completely wipe that out.” 

Parker shivered against his arm. “That part makes me really sick in my heart,” she said softly. 

Instinct led him to kiss the top of her head. Honesty teased the “me too,” out of his mouth.

They both fell silent, listening to the movie. Dory implored them to just keep swimming. _I’m trying, fish. Harder on dry land, you know._

“Did I hurt anyone?” The words slipped out before he realized he was even thinking about that.

“No. Just the bots. You’re still good, James.” Her hand was tight on his, squeezing. As long as she trusted him, he would stay. 

He leaned into her a little more, chewing his lip.

He wanted to ask if she knew all the words yet. If she knew there was a self destruct sequence.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t know if he could trust the answer.

~ ~ ~

The next day, they finally let him up to walk around. Mostly to raid the kitchen. Eliot had been cooking and baking, a lot. He was sneaking another brownie from the plate when he heard the words “Avengers” and “Sokovia.” Before the robots, they had been in Sokovia a lot. _Hydra._

Muscle control was nearly 75% usefulness, so it was nothing to ghost over on bare feet to the doorway of the pantry. Only Hardison was sitting in there. On the screen, it looked like a thousand robots, identical to the ones they’d smashed. 

James pushed in and sat down, answering with a glare when Hardison tried to start up.

“Okay man, but YOU are the one who’s gonna tell Parker why you’re in here.” Then he took the brownie that James offered in silence.

“What’s happening over there?” He asked softly.

“Avengers showed up in Sokovia, started evacuating the city. Then the robots came out and started fighting. Still haven’t seen the Hulk yet.” A pause, then reluctantly. “Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, and Hawkeye are there, plus some other people I’ve never seen before.” 

“Reports say if there’s any other robots elsewhere?” James asked, eyes on Steve whenever he was on camera.

“Not a single one. They’re all right there.” 

They watch quietly for a while. James admits to himself that he’s impressed at the kind of symmetry Steve has developed in fighting with the others, particularly Thor. The alien he wanted James to meet.

“Is that what I think…” Hardison started.

“Why is the city starting to fly?” James finished.

It was. Several miles in diameter, if he could sightline the distance correctly from just a news feed. The TV announcers were going crazy. 

James felt that he knew how that felt. But at least he didn’t have to talk about it.

More robots. A helicarrier arrived out of nowhere. And the Hulk with the Black Widow. James rubbed at his throat when he saw her.

Eliot came back in, Parker too. Neither of them gave him any lip about being in there once they saw what was going on. Nate and Sophie were at the B&B, maybe. Not here. 

The four of them just stared in fascination at the TV. 

“Is this what it felt like when all the crazy happened in DC last year?” James heard himself ask.

“Kinda, yeah,” Hardison replied. Then handed him a bag of gummy frogs.

“I’m sorry,” also came out. Because not even gummy frogs could counter the amount of crazy on the screen.

Crazy doubled when the city stopped going up, and decided to come down.

Tripled as it exploded. His heart seized up, breath coming faster. _Mission finished without me?_

He wanted his phone. Left the pantry to go find it. 

Dialed Steve’s number. It went straight to voice mail. “Dumb, Rogers. Just fucking dumb.” Hung up when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Returned to the pantry. Talking heads were going in circles, but then someone linked into the feed coming from the helicarrier. He saw Thor in the background, Iron Man coming down to land. A weeping redhead comforted by the Widow. 

Big fucking silver star in the center of a chest way too close to the camera. Then the scene pulled back, and it was Steve. Dirty, costume torn. But alive. 

James found he could breath again. 

Steve was still talking nonsense to the TV screen, but James pushed back up and headed out to the deck. It was chilly, more fog rolling in.

He dialed the number again, just to speak to the voice mail. “I just remembered something, Rogers. I used to keep a roll of antacids in my pocket, when we were with the Commandos. Why do you insist on making me do that again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last line is dedicated to Florianna. She knows why.


	41. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whenever this world is cruel to me  
> I got you to help me forgive

James decided that Malaya was the best truck buddy ever. She roamed the cabin, but never got under his feet or demanded his attention while he shifted gears or navigated heavy chunks of traffic. Granted, it was only a three-hour drive north to Seattle, but the crew had trusted him to make this trip on his own. Okay, on their own, he thought as he scratched behind Malaya’s ears. She was already three times the size of the tiny little kitten he almost stepped on.

It had been two months since the robot invasion. It had taken a while before Hardison could work enough magic to get all their gear out of the clutches of the police, and out from under the eyes of a LOT of different agencies, from the FBI to Hydra and even Steven Rogers’ new version of the Avengers. The Brewpub had been left in Amy’s competent hands, legally owned by all the employees. James didn’t really understand it all, but he didn’t have to. That was Hardison’s job.

Malaya curled up against his thigh, yawning and stretching out one growing orange paw to claim her space. He’d spent the time getting to know her up at Eliot’s cabin, hiding from the world. That suit Coulson had kept his word. Still hadn’t called them for anything. James was out of that stuff. All he wanted now, was a life his own. 

A sign post to his right promised Seattle in 168 miles. Plenty of time to handle something else. He reached up to tap the blue tooth earpiece. “Call Steve.” The future was insane. Sometimes he wondered if he woke up in the right universe. 

Four rings, then it picked up. “James, hey.” 

James smiled, ducking his head even though he was pretty sure no one would recognize him, what with the ball cap, jacket, and leather gloves. “So you finally figured out when I’m calling, that’s good.” There were more cars around him now, traffic was slowing down.

“It’s weird, it’s never the same number, but no one else knows mine.” Steve sounded relaxed, easy in his skin.

“Oh, I see. Yeah, I still don’t understand how it works. More studying for me.” James paused, listening to the background on Steve’s end. A lot of silence. “At home?”

“Yeah. No rush to be anywhere tonight either. What are you doing?” 

“Uhm... Moving.” He bit his lip, waiting for the usual question. Just like every memory he’d recovered so far, Steve was predictably stubborn.

Except sometimes he wasn’t. “I’m not going to ask. I want to, I really do, but I know better, I swear.” There was a long deep sigh.

“Yeah… I’m surprised. You can be taught new tricks.” A couple idiots tried to swerve in front of his truck, making him tense up, but it didn’t stop him from laughing when Steve cursed.

“Fuck, James, I’m not a dog!” There was laughter too. 

“That’s good, because I’m a cat person.” Parker had explained the term. Steve must like it, because there was more laughter. It sounded good. 

“I still don’t believe you about the cat, you know.” 

Traffic was practically crawling now. A police car zoomed by. Five months ago he would’ve swerved off the road and gone into the woods. Now he was comfortable enough to watch it just race away. “I could prove it.”

“Yeah? I remember you following a few crazy dares back in the thirties.” 

James had no memory to go with that, but he didn’t doubt that much. “Well, hang on a second.” Traffic was sitting still now. His phone beeped, a text from Eliot. _Wreck on the 5. Be careful._ He texted back that he was stuck in the traffic behind it.

Then he scooped up the sleeping Malaya, ignoring her protest and cuddling her to his chest before taking a quick photo. A Selfie, in Hardison speech. 

“What are you doing, Bu-” A soft sigh, then Steve’s voice dropped in his apologetic tone. “Sorry. I know better, I swear.” 

“Yeah, I know, old man. It takes a while for a 90-year-old to catch on.” It felt good to tease him, even as he sent the photo in a text.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re older by a year, never forget that. Damn, hold on.” James waited a moment, letting Malaya curl back up against him. 

A soft noise, a breath sucked in like a minor hurricane. “James! You look…” 

“Like a cat person, I told you.” 

Steve laughed again. It was shaky, but it was a laugh. “Yes, a real cat. But that’s not what I mean, and you know it. You look good. Happy.” James didn’t recognize the emotion tinging those last words. Almost like pride and regret, but that was stupid.

“I don’t know about happy. But better, yeah.” He paused, thinking over everything. “Hey Steve?”

“Yeah James?” 

“I got… I got something I need to say, so don’t interrupt me, okay?” James wanted Steve to stop and listen this time, not run right over him. That’s what James remembered most about Steve Rogers, that it was better to stop him before he got started. Otherwise, you never got a word in edgewise. 

“Okay. I won’t.” Good, he made Steve sound nervous.

“Last year, that wasn’t me. And that’s not me anymore. I promise. Those robots are the last thing I fought.” A soft noise, like a whimper, but otherwise the other end of the line was silent. Wow, Rogers COULD muzzle himself. “I’m glad I was sent after you. Glad you figured out a way to set me free. That wasn’t a life. You and me, we know that. But now? I think I have one. I have friends. I have Malaya. I’m safe. I mean… I’m not dangerous. No one can use that stuff against me anymore, or use me against anyone else with that. You still with me?” 

“Yeah... I’m-” A choking sound. One of the things James has learned is that Steve Rogers does know how to cry. “I’m still here.” 

“Good. I just… I don’t think I’m ready for the rest of the world yet. Not like you and the Avengers and the rest of them. I’m still learning to be me. Does that make sense?” 

“God, I’m doing the same thing, James. I’ve been here for four years now and I’m still trying to figure that out.” The crying choking sound was louder. This was getting hard to do.

“Okay, so yeah. That’s why I can’t come back yet. But Stevie? You remember? You said ‘until the end of the line?’” 

That was Steve. His friend Steve. Taking a long ragged breath before answering. “Yeah James. I remember. I meant it too.” 

“Good.” He was easing past the wreck now. Traffic was moving again. “Cause we’re not there, pal, not by a long shot. Remember that too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG so yeah, part one finished! Several of you kept reading and commenting every time I posted and I just wanna say I love all of you. Please to be patient! Part two starts on Friday! And it'll be called "The Rent is Too Damn High Job." Seattle! Hijinks! Biology Books! More Pixar films! New characters! The best good guys are bad guys!
> 
> Seriously though, I haven't had this much fun writing in a decade. Thank you for joining me on this ride and renewing my faith in a lot of things. I leave you a Queen video! Because if this isn't Steven Rogers and Bucky Barnes' theme song, then they don't have one: https://youtu.be/HaZpZQG2z10

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Job Between Here and There (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643827) by [Florianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florianna/pseuds/Florianna), [foolishnotions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishnotions/pseuds/foolishnotions)




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